


Hero Hunting

by slanted-HP-knitting (SlantedKnitting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/slanted-HP-knitting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Harry disappeared after the war and Ron spent the next fifteen years searching the globe for him. When he finally finds Harry in Scotland, things do not go exactly according to plan. Not that he really had a plan in the first place, anyway.</p>
  <p>Other Pairings: Harry/OFC, Hermione/Neville, George/Lee, and Ginny/OMC. Explicit Ron/OFCs & OMCs. Brief Harry/OMC. Mentioned past Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Lee, and Ginny/Neville.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Hero Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2010 Harry/Ron Big Bang challenge on LJ.

**Prologue: How to Hunt a Hero**  
  
At the age of 33, Ron Weasley found himself hiding underneath a stolen invisibility cloak in the middle of a street on the Shetland Islands. Here, in Scotland, after nearly fifteen years of searching, he had tracked down Harry Potter.  
  
The desperate, obsessive, maddening desire that had been driving him for the past decade and a half, however, was slowly draining away. He had been standing in this street for at least twenty minutes and he could think of nothing better to do than leave it. He wanted tea. Better yet, he wanted coffee. A nice, hot cup of coffee. Then, he would go back home. Mission accomplished; Harry Potter found at last. No need to spoil the occasion by actually revealing his presence.  
  
Yet, he could not make himself leave; he was practically glued to the spot, unable to make any further decisions. He had dedicated almost half of his life to this hunt, but now that he had finally found what he wanted, he realized that he had no plan. No plan whatsoever for the occasion of actually finding his long lost best friend.  
  
"Bugger," Ron muttered, quickly jumping out of the way of a speeding car and nearly tripping over the cloak. Checking that he was completely covered, he moved onto the pavement in front of Harry's house. He tried to force himself to go closer, to walk up the pathway to the front door and knock, to tackle Harry to the ground the minute he opened the door and demand to know why he had been such a world-class bastard. Unfortunately, he seemed to be frozen again.  
  
Ron had never actually thought this moment would come. Harry was a brilliant wizard and a clever man. He had successfully hidden from Ron and the rest of the wizarding community for a decade and a half. Ron's finding him had been a complete accident. He had been in Norway, walking aimlessly up and down streets in a small and freezing northern city when he heard people speaking in English.  
  
_"Moved back to her hometown. Took Harry with her. Wanted to be closer to her family. Settle down. You know."  
  
"Where was she from?"  
  
"Scotland. Some island. Forget."  
  
"But wasn't he English?"  
  
"Think so. Didn't seem too keen on going back, though. Never said a word about it to me, anyway. Nothing about family or friends there. Not once in four years I knew him."  
  
"Maybe he was abused. He had such strange scars."_  
  
Ron hadn't needed to hear anything else. He went straight back to London to tell his family, Hermione, and a few select people at the Ministry that he had a lead. It had been thirteen years of controversial searching, of sneaking around behind his family's backs, of being reprimanded by the Ministry for missing so much work and spending too much time looking for a man who was not a criminal and obviously did not want to be found.  
  
No one had been too hopeful. Even Hermione begged him to let it go, to let Harry be in peace, wherever he was. Ron hated them all, and so he severed his few remaining ties with the Auror Department and left to explore the Scottish Isles. Unfortunately for him, Scotland had rather a lot of islands, and he couldn't bring himself to leave the largely uninhabited or uninhabitable ones off his list.  
  
Two years after setting off to find Harry's new home, Ron had found it. The old, stone house had an ornate, hand-carved sign hanging next to the front door that read  
  


_Potter  
Ferguson_

_So much for not wanting to be found_ , Ron thought to himself as he read the sign for the hundredth time. He wondered what this Ferguson woman was like. As far as Ron knew, Harry had been living with her for the past two years, and possibly before that, in Norway. What Harry had been doing in Norway for four years, Ron didn't know; he hadn't stayed long enough to find out.

Mostly, while Ron was stuck to the pavement in front of the house, he was wondering about Harry. What did Harry look like now? Did he still have uncontrollably messy black hair or had he finally found a haircut that tamed it? Was his lightening scar visible or did he still cover it with his fringe? Did he still wear those round glasses? Was he still scrawny or had he finally grown into his slender body?

Ron thought about all the changes he had gone through since he was 18. He had stopped growing upon reaching the height of six feet, four inches; this made him the tallest of all his brothers, though Bill still insisted otherwise. He had grown into his lankiness, filling out his limbs and middle with muscles that didn't give him much bulk, but made him look healthily thin instead of painfully stretched and starving. The endless freckles he privately thought he could do without, but no one outside of his family (or the Malfoy family, but who counted them?) had ever called him ugly.

Fifteen years had changed him a lot, both inside and out. He could only imagine how such a span of time had changed Harry, who had disappeared from Platform 9 ¾ on the day that Ginny and Hermione went back to Hogwarts. He and Ron were supposed to move to London that day, but instead, he had vanished and Ron had pulled out of Auror training, convinced that someone had managed to kidnap his best friend.

When it became clear that Harry had gone away of his own accord, Ron felt even worse about the situation. He joined in the Auror training late and had been forced to make up for his missed lessons by doing private sessions with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who helped him improve greatly and quickly.

Now, Ron was a well-trained, highly-skilled ex-Auror who had spent the past two years tramping up and down every street he could find on the islands surrounding Scotland.

It was time.

Sighing, Ron glanced around the street. No pedestrians, no cars, no one looking out of a house window. He removed the invisibility cloak he had nicked from the Auror department before quitting, finally revealing himself. With a deep, steadying breath, and absolutely no plan as to what he would say or do once he got to the door, he headed up the path towards Harry's house.

 

 

**Chapter One: The First Attempt**

Ron stood nervously on the front step of Harry's house. He stared unblinkingly at the sign that read, "Potter, Ferguson." His hand shook as he lifted it up to knock.

He waited breathlessly, listening for approaching footsteps from within the house. When nothing happened, he knocked again, louder and more confidently.

Still, nothing happened. He took a step back and eyed the front windows suspiciously, wondering if Harry had seen him on the front step and decided not to open the door. The curtains were drawn and still, however. Ron sighed and looked around again, his eye falling on a tiny button next to the door.

He rang the doorbell and waited. Once again, there was no noise. He pressed his ear to the front door and pushed the button again, but could hear no buzzing. After a few more sharp jabs at it, he decided the bell was broken. Glancing around the street behind him, he tossed the invisibility cloak back over himself and sighed to shake off the sense of disappointment and anti-climax.

 _The back door_ , he thought, walking around the house. He turned one corner and saw a fence jutting out from the back of the house, marking the garden. He could hear noises, voices. Quickening his steps as he walked around the side of the house, Ron clutched at the cloak. His heart was pounding intensely and he felt as though it were trying to leap up his throat and out of his mouth.

He reached the fence and stopped dead before walking the final few feet it would take to bring the entire back garden into view. He listened carefully, noting the different sounds and voices. There were several deeper voices indicating adults, at least two high-pitched children's voices, and what sounded like running water.

Gulping and trying to calm himself, Ron closed his eyes and moved forward until he was sure he was next to the fence. He turned towards the childish shouting and opened his eyes.

Three children, all under ten years old, were running around the garden in bathing suits. There was a long, blue tarp spread out over the grass. It started near the fence where Ron was standing and ended at the opposite fence, which had a mattress tied to it.

Ron watched blindly as the oldest kid ran up to the tarp, the grass squishing wetly beneath his bare feet, and belly-flopped onto it. He slid ungracefully along it, crashing headfirst into the mattress at the other end of the garden. Laughing loudly, he jumped to his feet and ran to get back in line behind the other children.

Harry was standing to one side of the tarp, watching the chaos with a grin on his face and holding out a hose. He aimed the water spray at the tarp, keeping it slick and frictionless for the kids. His hair was short on the sides, but slightly longer on top and down the middle of the back; Ron thought this slight mohawk gave Harry an odd, artsy look that seemed very out of place on his friend. To accompany this, he appeared to have grown some sort of tightly-trimmed beard, or else not shaved for a while, though Ron thought it looked rather on purpose. Stranger still, was the lack of glasses.

Behind Harry, on a small paved patio, were three more adults sitting on chairs around a table. They, too, were happily watching the wet scene.

It took a few minutes for Ron to fully take in what he was watching. There were two couples, and the women on the porch could easily be related; Harry's wife and her sister. The man would be the sister's husband. Both women had light brown hair and pretty, cheerful, freckled faces. The younger one had her hair cut short; it hung above her shoulders and she kept tucking stray strands behind her ears. The older one had elbow-length hair that was tied back in a loose braid. The three children could have belonged to anyone; they all had light brown hair and looked distinctly like the women. Ron couldn't find traces of either Harry or the other man in their faces.

 _So_ , he thought, _Harry's married. With a kid. Possibly two. And this is a play date for the cousins_.

"UNCLE HARRY!"

The shriek made Ron jump a bit and he quickly made sure that he was still hidden by the cloak. The youngest child, another boy, ran up to Harry and tried to grab the hose from him. Harry chuckled, let go of the hose, and turned towards the patio. The boy lurched forward, flinging all his weight against Harry, who staggered sideways onto the tarp, slipped, and landed hard on his backside. He slid comically into the mattress.

The younger of the sisters, who Ron decided must be Harry's wife, jumped up and ran over to him. Harry was sprawled on his back, wincing, but laughing.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a Scottish accent.

"Fine," Harry assured her, slowly scooting off the tarp so he could stand up on the grass. She helped him up and he hugged her tightly, pressing his wet body against her dry one. Squealing, she wiggled out of his grip and ran back to the safety of the patio. Her sister was laughing.

"Uncle Harry!" This time, the cry came from the girl. Ron immediately looked at the oldest child, his heart thundering in his chest as he realized this must be Harry's son. "Slide with me!"

"And me!" chorused the younger boy.

"Me, too!" agreed the oldest.

"Okay, okay." Harry ruffled each head of soaking hair as he walked to the start of the tarp. Ron held his breath as his friend approached the fence. He was still lean, but Ron could see the muscles bulging out through the wet shirt. As Harry removed the shirt, Ron's eyes found themselves feasting on hard, defined pecs and abs. There was a light mark on his chest from when the Horcrux had tried to strangle him. Ron found himself searching out all of Harry's familiar scars, somehow relieved to see them. The lightening scar on his forehead was in full view, now that he had no fringe to hide it. When Harry turned away, Ron watched the tendons in his arms and back as he lowered himself onto the tarp.

The three children climbed gleefully on his back. The youngest boy was practically sitting on Harry's neck. The girl sat just behind him, and Harry's son was perched on his father's lower back.

"Emily!" Harry called. "Give us a push?"

Ron watched as the short-haired woman walked back over to the tarp, her shirt and shorts sprinkled with water from her hug with Harry. She grabbed onto Harry's ankles and pushed forward with a grunt, sending her husband and the three kids hurtling towards the mattress. Harry wrapped his arms around his head, allowing his forearms to hit the padding first. The kids toppled off him on impact, giggling madly and demanding another go.

As Harry stood and agreed to give them one more ride, Ron turned and walked back towards the street. He would not be able to show himself to Harry today. They had company over and Ron needed time to process the new facts. Marriage. Son. Mohawk. Beard. No glasses. All those muscles.

He pulled the invisibility cloak off and walked drearily back towards the center of town, thinking longingly of a mindless, hot shower in his hotel room. All the while, he tried to block out the chant that was growing stronger and louder in the back of his mind: _that was not my Harry, that was not my Harry_.

 

 

**Chapter Two: The Second Attempt**

_Hermione,  
I found Harry. He's living in the Shetland Islands. I went to his house yesterday, but he had company over and so nothing happened. I think he has a wife and son. Also, he's not wearing his glasses anymore. I'm going to go back today and try again. Tell my family I say hello and send my love. I hope to be back soon.  
Love, Ron_

Ron returned to Harry's house the next afternoon. He walked immediately up to the front door and knocked loudly, not giving himself time to be nervous or have second thoughts. When nothing happened, he sighed and flung the stolen invisibility cloak over himself before trudging around the house to the back garden.

Harry and Emily were on their patio with another man. The three of them were sitting close together at the table with the unknown man in the middle. Harry had his arm slung casually around the back of the man's chair and his bare toes were wiggling playfully with Emily's under the table.

Ron watched them carefully, trying to find the Harry he used to know in the man now sitting in front of him. This new Harry, Ron now saw, had an eyebrow piercing and an earring. He had a carefully trimmed beard that outlined his jawbone but did not spread to his cheeks. He looked happy and relaxed, though perhaps a bit expectant.

Emily stood up and went into the house for a moment and Ron considered leaving and trying again tomorrow, but then Harry raised his arm from the chair back and ran a hand through the other man's hair. The man turned his head towards Harry and smiled, placing his own hand on Harry's thigh. When Emily came back a moment later, carrying a small box, the two men drew their hands away slowly.

Ron swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat. Exactly what was going on here? He tried to think of an explanation for Harry's behavior, other than the obvious one, but could come up with nothing. He watched, without taking anything in, as Emily opened the box and began preparing something. Was Harry having an affair with this man? If he was, they weren't being very secretive about it; Emily had seen them caressing each other. Maybe Harry and Emily had an open relationship.

Was Harry gay?

Or, rather, bisexual?

A song rang suddenly through the air and the unknown man pulled a mobile 'phone out of his pocket and answered the call. As their guest spoke into his mobile, Emily and Harry busied themselves with the box. She passed him a short cylinder and a brightly coloured instrument. Harry unscrewed the cylinder and began tipping its contents onto the other object.

Ron took a few steps to the side and leaned cautiously over the fence. When the man hung up and grinned at the coloured piece of glass and Emily pulled a lighter out of the box, his suspicions were confirmed. Harry had just packed a bowl of marijuana. The three on the porch talked quietly for a moment and Ron turned one ear towards them, but couldn't make out any words. Finally, Emily raised the pipe to her mouth, lit the other end, and inhaled slowly. When she was done, she passed it to her guest, who took it gratefully. As Emily exhaled, the other man passed the bowl to Harry, who, after taking a hit, handed it back over to Emily.

Ron watched the scene curiously, wondering how long Harry been using drugs, if he'd done any other ones besides marijuana, and what it would be like to try them. After the pipe had made a few rounds, Harry took a large hit, leaned forward, and breathed the smoke into the other man's mouth.

An electric shiver ran down Ron's spine, causing him to shudder and his skin to erupt in goose pimples. He was frozen to the spot, his heart thumping in his chest, as Harry leaned back and the other man blew the smoke up into the air.

Harry passed the bowl back to Emily, who also took a hit from it and then blew the smoke into the other man's mouth. Ron blinked and wrinkled his nose. Now what was going on? Before he could think on it, Emily had leaned forward, across her guest, to kiss Harry. The man between them put a hand on each of their legs as he watched them kiss over him with a lazy grin. As soon as they broke apart, Harry moved his lips to the man's, snogging him heartily.

Ron turned quickly and walked back onto the street. He did not want to see that. Feeling he should have left long before, he pulled the invisibility cloak off and headed slowly back to his hotel.

 

 

**Chapter Three: The Third Attempt**

_Hermione,  
I went back to Harry's yesterday, but he had company again. I'm trying once more today. Thought you'd like to hear what he's like now, though. As far as I can tell, anyway. His wife's name is Emily Ferguson. She's Scottish. As you know, they've been living here for about two years. Harry looks healthy – he's thin but he has muscles. He has a weird mohawk and some interesting facial hair. Also, he's got an eyebrow piercing, an earring, and he smokes marijuana. I'll write again soon. Hopefully I will be able to talk to him today. If not, I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm sick of this town and I sort of feel like I'm stalking him. I'll let you know how it goes.  
Love, Ron_

Ron stood on Harry's front step, chewing nervously on his thumbnail. This, he told himself, was his last chance. No matter what Harry was doing today, no matter if he had a dozen people over for company, this was it. Now or never; third time's a charm.

He took his hand away from his mouth and knocked loudly on the door. When he heard Harry shout something from inside and head towards the front of the house, he took a step back. His insides felt like they had malfunctioned and stopped completely; his brain was stuck on pause, his heart was scared stiff, his stomach was a heavy rock in his gut. It took everything he had not to run away.

The door opened and Ron breathed again.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be dying. He stood, his hand gripping the doorknob of the wooden door with white knuckles. His face was pale, his mouth was hanging open slightly, and his eyes were staring unblinkingly at Ron.

Ron cleared his throat and attempted a smile. His lips quavered pitifully and he gave up quickly. "Hi?" He blushed at the embarrassing high-pitched squeak that was his voice.

Harry blinked, his bright green eyes wide and panicked. "Ron?" he whispered.

Ron nodded stupidly.

"Who's it?" Emily's voice called from somewhere inside.

"Um," Harry shouted back, not tearing his eyes away from Ron's face.

There was a light stomping noise as Emily made her way to the front door. As she approached, Ron leaned sideways to look at her over Harry's shoulder. She moved beside Harry and put a hand on his back, smiling questioningly at Ron.

"Er," Ron tried.

Emily looked between Harry and Ron a few times before turning back to Ron. "Can I help you?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"I'm, um…" Ron glanced at Harry, who offered no help. "An old friend of Harry's."

The smile returned to Emily's face. "Oh!" She moved out of the way. "Come in, then. Can I get you anything to drink? Water, tea, coffee… ale?"

Ron stepped inside, nodding wordlessly at her offer. Seeming to understand the need for alcohol, she left the room.

Harry, finally coming back to his senses, closed door. "Right," he said, turning to Ron. "What are you doing here?" His voice was dark, accusatory, and not in the least bit friendly.

Ron stood up a bit straighter, trying to gather himself enough to defend his obsessive stalking. "I wanted to see you," he said lamely.

"How did you find me?"

Ron shrugged and looked away. "Luck."

"How did you find me?" Harry repeated angrily.

"I overheard some people talking about you. In – in Norway. They said you'd moved to Scotland."

"How'd you find my house? What were you doing in Norway?"

Ron sighed. "Harry–"

"Answer my questions!" Harry growled, careful to keep his voice low so Emily wouldn't hear from the kitchen.

"I'm not afraid of you," Ron said simply.

"You bloody well should be," Harry threatened.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Do you even own a wand anymore, Harry?" he asked in a whisper.

Harry laughed, a loud bark. "Ha! Do you really think I need one?

They stood there, staring each other down in thick silence, until Emily entered the room again, carrying two large mugs of dark, foamy liquid. Doing her best to ignore the awkward tension, she handed a mug to Harry, and then to Ron.

"It's so nice of you to visit," she said kindly, shaking Ron's hand. "My name's Emily, by the way. You know, I've known Harry for six years and I've never once met one of his friends from home before."

"Fancy that," Ron muttered into his mug before taking a large gulp.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"It's Ron," Harry answered quickly. "And he was just leaving, actually." He stared meaningfully at Ron, who took another sip of ale.

"Um, yes. Can't stay long, really. I've got… a meeting." He handed the mug back to Emily. "Thanks for the ale, though."

"Oh, um, fine. No problem. Are – are you staying in town?"

"Yeah. Queens Hotel."

"Do you need a lift?" she asked, ignoring Harry's intense glares.

"No… no, thank you. It's not that far a walk. I'll just… be going. Nice to meet you. Harry." He nodded in Harry's direction without actually looking at the man before opening the doors and leaving.

When he reached the end of the street, he turned the corner, walked a few more yards, and then sat down heavily on the curb. He was shaking all over and he felt as though he might vomit or pass out. Forcing himself to breath normally, he leaned forward slightly and put his head between his knees.

He sat there for a long time, listening to the occasional car driving by and thinking about the past fifteen years. It had all been a waste. Harry hadn't wanted to be found; he had changed. He was no longer the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One or the Saviour or any of the other stupid things witches and wizards used to call him. Now he was a rude, muscular, mohawked, bearded, pierced, married, drug-using wanker. Ron had spent nearly half his life looking for his friend, only to find that the man he once knew was no longer there. He had squandered away a decade and a half. He'd isolated himself from his friends, his family, and his job. He'd given up everything to try to find his best friend again. All Ron had needed was a smile, a handshake, a hug. A "thanks for finding me, mate. I thought everyone'd forgotten about me."

Sitting up straight and wiping his wet eyes, Ron looked around the darkening street. He needed to leave. He wanted to go home.

He stood slowly, stretching and breathing deeply. Then, deciding to eat dinner at the restaurant in his hotel, he set off down the road again.

 

 

**Chapter Four: Recuperation**

_Hermione,  
I spoke to Harry today. He's doing well. I'll be coming home shortly.  
Love, Ron_

Ron was sprawled on his bed, limbs flung out in every direction, and staring up at the cracked, watermarked ceiling. He was good and drunk, having worked his way through a fair bit of a bottle of whisky during and after his dinner.

He was, and had always been, a horny drunk. He'd been debating whether or not to have a wank for the past half hour, but couldn't convince himself that he'd be able to get through it without thinking of Harry kissing that man the previous day. The last person he wanted to think about right then was Harry "What Are You Doing Here and How Did You Find Me" Potter.

He decided to give it a go. This was his last night in Scotland; might as well make the most of it. Arching his back slightly to try to get feeling back in his fingers, he ran his hands over his chest and stomach before unbuttoning his trousers. As he slowly undressed, he tried to come up with a wank-worthy memory or fantasy. He hadn't spent too much time or effort on romance during the past fifteen years; there had been plenty of quick, semi-public fumbles and enough one-night stands to last him a life time, but nothing lasting. He was well practised in masturbation and could bring himself off in less than five minutes or could spend hours teasing the orgasm out from its depths.

Naked and half-hard, Ron gripped his cock loosely and ran his hand lazily along its growing length. He thought of his last sexual encounter, which had taken place in a seedy club in Edinburgh well over a year ago. A young, blond woman, whose name he couldn't even remember asking, had blown him in a toilet stall while she fingered herself. He had wanted to touch her, to return the favour, but she had already come by the time she stood up to spit his own semen into his mouth. It had been one of his odder exploits, but he had found her command of him enticing, and he did love to watch women touch themselves.

Stroking himself firmly with one hand, Ron used his other hand to toy with his balls, his perineum, and his arse. He replayed scenes of past masturbating lovers in his head: the blond Scottish girl, the tall Norwegian man, the green-eyed Polish woman with the mostly silent friend who trembled as though she were dying when she finally came under Ron's mouth, the quick succession of American men he fucked in Chicago, the incredibly dark-skinned woman he met in Italy, the Portuguese sisters he didn't know were related until afterwards, the French prostitute he accidentally picked up, the Danish waiter he hadn't been allowed to touch, the Japanese woman who ejaculated all over his clean hotel sheets.

Ron ran his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading around the moist pre-cum before picking up a quicker-paced stroke. He thought of the other people he had slept with over the past decade and a half, sometimes only able to recall a location or a face. He thought of Hermione and how she used to fuck him blind multiple times in one night. He thought of the new, muscular Harry and his wife having sex with the man on their porch.

"Fuck…" Ron sighed and stilled his hands. Slowly, he brought his left hand up to his mouth and sucked briefly on his first two fingers. He resumed pulling on his cock with his right hand as the now-slick fingers of his left slid down his balls before pushing gently into him. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and thought about the last man who had fucked him, the tall blond from Norway called Kristian, with a wide smile and fluffy hair. Ron had come first, shouting as Kristian's huge cock rocked repeatedly against his prostate. Then, before Ron had even caught his breath, Kristian had pulled out and started wanking, eventually coming all over Ron's neck and chest. He had cursed heavily in Norwegian as they fucked, and Ron now tried to recall the strange sounds that had turned him on, but his head was full of nothing but echoes.

He rocked his hips and held himself tighter, biting his lip as he felt a tingling warmth gathering in his groin. He thought about the Danish waiter who had strapped him down in a chair before moving around his hotel room, wanking in several artful positions. Ron couldn't remember ever being more hard than as he watched the cute, muscular Dane thrash around on the bed as he tossed off. By the time the waiter was close to coming, Ron had been begging incessantly and struggling against his restraints. Seeing his prisoner in such a state had only turned on the other man even more. Eventually he had stood in front of Ron, wanking almost violently, and come on his captive's face. Ron had cried out in shock and arousal and had licked off as much come as he could. When the Dane had recovered from his powerful orgasm, he ran a hand across Ron's face, slicking it with his own come, and used it as lubrication on Ron's cock. It took only a few masterful strokes before Ron was coming on the waiter's chest. Then, leaving Ron in the chair and covered in semen, the Dane had taken a quick shower and dressed before untying Ron's hands. By the time Ron had untied his feet, the other man was gone.

Ron came with a low whine, his body shuddering with pleasure as he pictured the Dane standing over him, coming on his face.

 

 

**Chapter Five: Ron's Visitor**

Ron woke with a start when the phone on the nightstand rang. He covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly, wishing the throbbing in his head would subside long enough for him to pick up the phone and tell the desk clerk to sod off.

After three more deafening rings, he flung an arm out and grabbed the receiver. "What?" he barked into it.

"I – sorry, sir, to disturb you."

Ron closed his eyes. "It's fine. What?"

"I'm sorry," the quiet, high-pitched voice continued, "but there's just – there's someone here to see you, sir."

"No," Ron muttered, "I don't know anyone here. You've got the wrong room."

"This is Mr. Weasley in 214?"

"Er." Ron sat up slightly. "Yeah."

"There's someone here to see you, sir."

"Oh."

"Called Harry Potter, sir."

"Bugger." Ron sighed and flung his legs over the side of his bed.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yeah, tell him to wait. I'll be down in a mo."

He hung up the phone and stood, stretching his long arms up over his head. He shook out his limbs, attempting to force his body into full consciousness. He tried to imagine why Harry would come to see him after being so rude the day before. Had he come to apologize? To explain?

Ron rummaged through his things, cursing heavily when he found his empty vial of hangover potion. He dressed quickly and hastily locked his door before rushing down to the hotel lobby.

Harry was sitting across from reception, staring blankly into space. His hair was ruffled and he had dark bags under his heavily lidded eyes. Ron studied him for a moment, wondering how anyone could manage to look that bedraggled before nine o'clock in the morning.

"Ahem," Ron cleared his throat lamely.

Harry blinked and looked up. "Oh."

"Oh," Ron repeated.

"Ah, right." Harry stood slowly. "Mind if I, um… come up for a chat?"

"Be my guest," Ron muttered as Harry walked past him, heading for the stairs. Ron followed, moving ahead when they reached the second floor and unlocking his room. "It's, er… a bit of a mess."

Harry stepped inside the room and glanced around. "Looks about the normal amount of mess, actually. See you haven't changed."

"See you have," Ron countered as he closed the door behind him.

Harry ignored this remark and turned to face his old friend. "So. Why did you come here?"

"I could ask you the same."

"Why did you come here?" Harry repeated loudly, his voice revealing the anger that his tired expression masked.

"I missed you," Ron said honestly, looking up into Harry's surprisingly sharp eyes. "I just wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you're my best mate!"

"I'm not your mate," Harry growled.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then why are you here?"

"Emily guilted me into talking to you."

"She sent you over here?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Yeah."

"At eight thirty in the morning."

"No, yesterday evening. I didn't want to come."

"And yet." Ron gestured at Harry before sitting himself on the edge of his bed.

Harry plopped down in the old chair next to the dresser and studied Ron's profile. "Just figured I might as well actually show up. I stayed up all night trying to think of reasons not to come."

Ron glanced up. "And?"

"And there were thousands. But I wanted answers."

"Answers." Ron nodded. "Right. Well?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Here in Scotland or here at the hotel?"

"Both."

"I've been in Scotland for about two years. In this hotel about two weeks. Took me a while to find your house."

"And you found it yesterday," Harry prompted.

"Er… no. A few days ago."

Harry grimaced. "A few days ago."

"Yeah." Ron sighed. "A few days ago."

"And you knocked yesterday… why?"

"Well, you – you had company the other days I went."

"Company."

"Some kids…"

"Emily's sister's kids." Harry rolled his eyes. "You were there?"

"That was the day I found the house. I tried knocking, but there wasn't an answer. So I went out back, and… and you were with them."

Harry nodded, staring angrily down at the floor. "You've an invisibility cloak."

"You've a son," Ron countered stupidly.

Harry's head shot back up. "What?"

"A son. One of the kids… the oldest. He's yours, right?"

"Did it look like Emily and I have a nine-year-old son? I've only known her for six years."

"Oh. Right." Ron picked at the duvet.

"They're all her sister's kids… Emily and I aren't even married."

Ron sighed again. "Oh. I thought you were."

"You think a lot of stupid things."

"Why are you here, Harry?' Ron demanded, looking up at Harry's tired and stony face.

"You've been stalking me for fifteen years."

"No, I've been _looking_ for you for fifteen years."

"What's the difference?"

"Stalking implies that I actually knew where you were, that I was following your every footstep. I had no idea where you were."

"You knew I was in Norway."

"No, I didn't," Ron insisted. "I just happened to be there. Looking for you, in case you'd been there… and you had. It was a freak coincidence."

"And that led you here."

"Yes."

"To my house."

"Yes."

"Where you saw me playing with those kids."

"Yes."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Did… what else did you see?" he asked.

Ron glanced down at the floor, knowing that Harry wanted to know if he had seen him kissing that other man. "I saw you… the next day. On your back porch with Emily and some bloke."

"Doing?"

"Well… you were, er, smoking marijuana."

Harry scoffed and stood. "Perfect prefect Ickle Ronniekins never smokes anything."

Ron got up as well. "Is that necessary?"

"You tell me."

"What the hell does that mean? Fuck–" Ron ducked and Harry's fist barely missed him. "What the hell, Harry?"

"You royal _fucking_ bastard!" Harry shouted, shoving Ron in the chest so hard that Ron stumbled back into the wall. "How fucking _dare_ you show up here after fifteen fucking years and ruin fucking _everything_."

Harry made another move towards Ron, but Ron had pulled out his wand and he cast a shield charm in front of him. Harry stared at the shimmering screen for a second, then flicked it away with a wave of his hand. He took a deep breath, calming himself as Ron stared at the space where his shield had been a moment before.

"How the – where are you going?"

"Outside," Harry called from where he was already standing in the hallway. "You can come if you like."

"Oh, can I?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. He followed Harry down the stairs and out the front door. "Where are you going?" he asked again.

"Right bloody here," Harry announced as he sat down on the bench in front of the hotel. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and slid one out of the box. He held the pack out to Ron, who took it and sat down next to him. "So you do smoke," Harry observed as Ron pulled out one cigarette and handed back the rest.

"Socially."

"Bloody pansy," Harry muttered as he struck a match and lit his cigarette. He passed the matchbook to Ron, who lit his own before tossing it into Harry's lap.

"How exactly am I a pansy?"

"Too afraid to take up smoking full time."

"Well, it is quite bad for you."

"And yet." Harry gestured mockingly at Ron, who slapped his hand away.

"Don't be such a twat, Harry."

"I'm the twat and you're the pansy. We're quite a pair."

Ron rolled his eyes and finished his cigarette in silence. When Harry tossed the butt of his on the ground, Ron pursed his lips.

"I saw you kissing."

Harry stared stupidly at Ron. "What?"

"I saw you kissing that bloke on your porch."

"Congratulations," Harry said, sounding unimpressed.

"Didn't know you did that."

"How in the bloody fuck would you have?"

"You could have mentioned it," Ron said bitterly. "I mean, we only shared a tent for a year. You could have said that you fancy blokes."

"It wasn't a year, it was a few months, and it was totally and completely irrelevant at the time. In case you forgot, we were rather preoccupied with the fucking Horcruxes."

"Oh, silly me, I _did_ forget the most important year in everyone's fucking life."

Harry stood up. "I'm going home."

Ron grabbed the back of Harry's coat and pulled him back down. "No. You got your answers. Now it's my turn."

"Ron–"

"Harry," Ron said darkly, "I've been looking for you for fifteen bloody years. Do you really think I'm going to leave without some answers?"

Harry sighed angrily. "Fine. But I need a drink."

"Not that I don't echo those exact sentiments, but it's barely ten. No one is going to serve us alcohol at this–"

"Emily's at work. We can go back to my house. Come on." Harry pulled Ron up and, without another word, spun and Disapparated them.

 

 

**Chapter Six: Harry's House**

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron staggered sideways into the sofa in Harry's living room. "A bit of a warning next time would be nice."

"Sorry," Harry said unconvincingly.

"How do you do that, anyway?" Ron asked, straightening up and dusting himself off.

"What, Apparate?"

"Apparate without a wand."

Harry blinked. "But you have a wand."

"Yeah but – but, but you got rid of my shield charm at the hotel without a wand."

"Hm," Harry muttered as he went into the kitchen.

Ron followed. "Don't 'hm' me. How're you doing it?"

"Years of practise," Harry answered vaguely.

"Practise. Right."

"Look, I told you yesterday that I don't need a wand. What do you want to drink?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," Ron said distractedly.

"Screwdriver."

Ron watched as Harry pulled out a bottle of vodka from his freezer. "Er, it's a bit early for that, isn't it? I was thinking, you know… beer."

"It's not too early. Do you want one or not?"

"Er, yeah, okay." Ron leaned against the kitchen table and watched as Harry measured and poured their drinks. "Where does Emily work?" he asked casually.

"In town."

"Any particular building, or…"

"Well, she's a teacher, primarily. But, seeing as it's summer, she's picked up a job as a secretary."

"What does she teach?"

"Maths."

"Oh. And, er… what do you do, then?"

"Bartender," Harry said as he handed Ron a glass.

"Oh. Right." Ron stared down at his drink. "Is that why you were up all night, then?"

"I worked last night, if that's what you mean. Pub closes at three, though… stayed a bit longer."

"A bit," Ron agreed as he took a sip. "Not bad."

"Well, it is my job."

Ron nodded and peered into his glass. "Right."

"Ron."

"Hm."

"You said you wanted answers."

"Er, yeah."

"Well?"

Ron forced his gaze up to Harry's face. "Where are your glasses?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "My glasses? Shit, I haven't worn them in years… I have contacts, now."

"What are contacts?" Ron asked blankly.

"Um, well, they're these little… disc lens thingys. You put them in your eyes and you can see without glasses."

"Discs? _In_ your eyes? Isn't that dangerous?"

Harry snorted. "No. It's perfectly fine. A lot safer than trying to fix eyesight with magic, anyway."

"Did – did you try that?"

"No. I'm not that stupid."

Ron leaned forward a bit. "Doesn't look like you've got discs in your eyes."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Harry shook his head and took a drink of his screwdriver. "Anyway, you can see them if you look close enough." Ron took a step forward and Harry rolled his eyes. "A bit closer than that, Ron."

Ron moved awkwardly across the kitchen until he was inches from Harry. He squinted and stared into Harry's green eyes. After a few seconds, he noticed the very slight circles around the irises.

"Hm."

Harry blinked up at Ron and Ron stepped back quickly.

"We could… sit down," Harry offered.

"Yeah. Good." Ron took a large gulp of his drink as he followed Harry out to the living room and sat next to him on the sofa.

"How's… how's Hermione?" Harry asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Good. I think, anyway. I haven't heard from her in a few weeks, but I move around a lot. I write to her quite a bit, so…"

"Are you… still together?"

"Er, no. Definitely not."

"Why 'definitely'? Thought you two… you know. Loved each other. Meant to be together. All those years at Hogwarts. Et cetera."

"Yeah… it's a long story." Ron sighed. "Short version, though, is that it just didn't work out in the end… lots of… fighting, you know. We thought it was manageable, but… it just wasn't worth it. She's, er, married, now."

"No," Harry said quietly. "Married? To whom?"

"I'll give you one guess."

"I think I'll need at least ten."

"Neville."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Hermione married Neville."

"Yeah."

"Well, fuck!"

Ron chucked. "I know. It was a bit shocking, but… they get on quite well."

"But who… I always thought Neville would end up with Luna. They were both so… so…"

"Nutters, yeah. That probably would have made sense, but it never happened. Luna's dating Dean at the moment, actually. Last I heard, anyway. Hard to keep up with the gossip… what with the…"

"Stalking."

"Looking."

Harry shrugged and downed the rest of his drink. "Hermione and Neville. Luna and Dean. How's your sister, then?"

"Ginny's, you know, Ginny. It, er… took her a long time to get over you, you know."

Harry looked down into his empty glass. "I…"

"She's okay, now. Engaged to some Muggle. But… I mean, you left so unexpectedly and we… we didn't even know if you were alive at first. She was… she was quite devastated."

"I didn't mean… I didn't want her to get hurt."

"Sort of unavoidable, the way you ran off like that."

"Suppose so."

"Don't you miss them?" Ron asked quietly. "Even a little?"

"Yes." Harry shrugged. "But, to be perfectly honest… I haven't thought about them in a long time. I… I have… I have all this now." He waved a hand around the room. "I have Emily and a job and new friends. A new life. I just tried to forget everything else."

"But why?" Ron pressed. When Harry was silent, Ron cleared his throat. "Answer time, Harry. Why did you leave?"

"Because I was dying, Ron," Harry said quietly. "I was bloody suffocating and no one even noticed. I just had – I just had to get the fuck out of England. Out of the whole… Magical world."

"You couldn't have told us you felt suffocated?" Ron asked sadly. "We could have helped. You didn't have to leave."

"I did have to leave," Harry said as he stood up. "And now you have to leave, too."

Ron looked up at Harry. "What?"

"You have to leave."

"Why?"

"Because this is my bloody house and I want you to fucking leave."

"Fine." Ron slammed his empty glass down on the coffee table and stood, pulling his wand out. "You're such a bloody coward." With that, he turned rapidly and Disapparated out of Harry's house.

 

 

**Chapter Seven: The Post Office**

_Hermione,  
I spoke to Harry again. He's not actually married, nor does he have a son. I asked about his glasses and he said he's got discs in his eyes instead. Mental. He's working as a bartender here. Makes a strong screwdriver._

Ron stared down at the parchment and sighed heavily. It was hard to put the new Harry into words, not least of all because he was still drunk.

A few hours earlier, after leaving Harry's house, Ron had Apparated directly into his hotel room and taken a long, hot bath. He wanted to leave this town, this island, this country; he wanted to go back to England and settle into his own life again. He was bitter about all the time he had wasted on Harry "I've Forgotten All About You" Potter. How could anyone possibly even attempt to forget the type of friends and life that had once belonged to Harry? Friendships forged in constant battle against Voldemort were supposed to be life-changing, life-long bonds. Ron had certainly felt that way, otherwise he wouldn't have spent fifteen long years in search of his best friend. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have easily tossed out his past and picked up a new life.

_He's a bit of a bastard now, to be perfectly honest. He drinks too much and he smokes too much and he claims to have forgotten all of his old friends and moved on to bigger and better things with Emily and Scotland.  
Anyway, I'll be coming home soon, I hope. For good. I've really missed everyone.  
Love, Ron_

Ron folded the letter carefully and slipped it into an envelope. He scribbled Hermione's address on it before leaving the hotel and heading for the post office. He had no idea how long it took letters to get from the Shetland Islands to London, or even if Hermione was getting his letters, but his owl hadn't returned from England for several weeks. Ron wasn't even sure if Pig would be able to find him up here, and so he had been using the Muggle post to contact Hermione. He had no return address, but trusted that if she really needed to talk to him, she would find a way.

To his horror, Ron found Emily in the post office as well. He pretended he hadn't seen her as he moved into the queue behind her and stared down intently at his envelope, tracing Hermione's address with his eyes.

"Ron?"

He looked up with raised eyebrows. "Oh, Emily. Hi. I didn't realize that was you."

She smiled and shrugged. "How are you today?"

"Just fine," Ron replied, trying to decide if he wished he were more sober or more drunk. "And you?"

"Quite bored, actually. Just mailing some things for work and then I'm off home. Did Harry find you last night?"

"Er." Ron wasn't sure what to tell her. "We talked, yeah."

"Good. I'm sorry he was so rude yesterday. Not really sure what came over him."

"It's fine, really. Don't apologize for him. I… I guess I should have realized that was going to happen."

"Why's that?" Emily asked as she stepped up to the counter to buy stamps.

"Oh, you know," Ron muttered. "Hadn't seen each other in so long."

Their conversation paused as they each did their business and sent off their letters. Ron hoped she would leave when she had finished, but she waited for him.

"Would you like to come over for dinner?" she asked cheerfully as they walked outside.

"Oh, er, I… I don't know," Ron said lamely. "I wouldn't want to bother–"

"It's no bother, Ron. Harry told me you were his very best friend at school. I'm sure he'd love to have a chance to catch up."

"We've already caught up, actually." Ron tried to back away down the street, but Emily followed him. "Anyway, I really… I really don't think he'd like that, to be perfectly honest. We didn't, er… end on a great note."

She looked at him for a long moment, her smile fading. "Are you sure?

"Yes," Ron said firmly. "I've got to go pack, anyway. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, okay." She held out her hand and Ron shook it. "It was nice meeting you, anyway, Ron. I'm sorry, again, about Harry. He's just… he's like that sometimes. You know."

Ron nodded. "I do. But don't worry about it. It's all… water under the bridge. It was nice meeting you, too. Tell Harry I said goodbye." He turned and walked away without another word.

As he headed back to the hotel, he wondered what else Harry had told Emily about him. He wondered what Harry had told Emily about himself, what sort of lies he had made up about his family and his education. What had he told her about his scars? What had he told her about why he left England?

He stopped abruptly as he was about to turn onto his hotel's street. It occurred to him that he hadn't got proper answers from Harry, either. Suddenly, he felt that he wasn't ready to leave, that he had unfinished business here and it would be a waste to return home after fifteen years with nothing more from Harry than "I felt suffocated."

On the other hand, it was clear that Harry did not want Ron here, and Ron was not the type to overstay his welcome. But still, this was Harry Potter, Ron's supposed best friend. And if Ron didn't know Harry, then what did he know?

 

 

**Chapter Eight: The Reason**

Ron sat on the edge of his bed, staring mindlessly into the television. He wasn't taking in anything, however, because he was entirely focused on the telephone. He had been waiting for hours, knowing that if Emily told Harry that he was leaving the next day, Harry would show up at the hotel again. He _had_ to show up again, Ron kept telling himself. Despite what Harry may have thought about everyone not noticing that he had been suffocating after the war, Ron had noticed. He didn't notice much, but he had always noticed Harry, and always would.

 _What if he doesn't show?_ Ron tried to shush the voice in the back of his head with no luck. _It's been fifteen years. He's changed, of course. He's forgotten all about you and everything to do with magic. He doesn't need you. He won't show._

"Bugger." Ron fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. What if Harry didn't come over? Should he be going over to Harry's instead? "Bugger, bugger, bugg–"

The phone rang loudly and Ron scrambled to reach it, half falling off the bed. "Hello? Hello?" He turned the receiver the right way and tried again. "Hello?"

"M-Mr. Weasley? Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here, yes." Ron's heart was thudding in his chest as he readjusted himself on the bed.

"There's someone here to see you, sir.

"Will, um, would you send him up, please?"

"Of course, sir."

Ron hung up the phone and went to unlock his door. He turned off the television and sat down nervously in the chair next to the dresser.

Just when he was about to give up and go find Harry, there was a knock on the door. Ron ran to it, checked that it was Harry in the peep hole, and opened the door.

Harry stepped in, shoved Ron roughly, and kicked the door closed behind him. Ron pulled out his wand quickly, but Harry grabbed it out of his hand immediately.

"I let you do that," Ron said honestly.

"I know," Harry replied, tossing the wand onto the bed. "No wands, Ron."

"Are you going to tell me how you do magic without one?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell me why you left?"

"No."

"Right." Ron crossed his arms. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Emily told me you're leaving tomorrow."

Ron shrugged. "I was planning on it. What's it to you?"

Harry took a deep breath and Ron watched all the fight drain from his face. "I came to apologize," he said in a quiet voice. "I was… I've been a bit rude, and – and this whole thing just… it just caught me by surprise, is all. I haven't really been myself around you, and I – I felt bad. I didn't want it to end the way it did. I didn't want you… to regret finding me. Because I'm not – I'm not that big an arse." He smiled slightly. "At least, I hope I'm not. And it occurred to me that… that you're here, now, and there's no reason to be such a tosser just because of that. And I didn't want you leaving without, you know, a decent stab at… at a sort of, um, rekindled friendship, I guess."

Ron waited a moment to make sure Harry was done. "You want me to stay?" he asked, trying to sound skeptical instead of hopeful.

"I – if, if you want to. I mean… yeah, if you – if you _could_ stay… I… I'd like that."

Ron smirked slightly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

He shrugged lightly and sat on the edge of his bed. "I'll stay a bit."

"Oh. G-good." Harry smiled uneasily and sat down next to the dresser. "So, what… what have you been doing, exactly?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What, here?"

"No, I mean, in general. For the past fifteen years."

"Oh, that." Ron lay out on the bed, propped up against his pillows to face Harry. "Well, let's see. You left in September and I pulled out of Auror training and spent an entire year looking for you, convinced you'd been kidnapped if not killed." He studied Harry's pensive face for a moment before continuing. "Eventually we realized you'd left on purpose, so I re-joined the Aurors and did the training in two years. Shacklebolt gave me lessons on the side, to help make up for lost time, and he… well, he helped a lot. I spent those two summers still looking for you, in Ireland and the Netherlands and Belgium, mostly. I think I went to Denmark, then, too. I was trying to get to as many countries as I could."

"Can I ask, " Harry interrupted, "exactly why is it that you were so intent on finding me? I mean, once you'd realized I hadn't been kidnapped or killed, did it not occur to you that I'd left for a reason and that I didn't want to be found?"

Ron looked down at his lap for a moment. "Of course it did. But, to be honest, I never bloody cared." He looked back up at Harry. "I abandoned you twice before, and I swore to myself I'd never do it again."

Harry blinked. "Twice?"

"Once during the war–"

"Right."

"And once during the Triwizard."

Harry frowned. "That wasn't abandonment, that was just… teenaged stupidity."

Ron shrugged. "Okay, fine. I abandoned you one time and was a stupid teenager another time. Either way, I wasn't going to let you escape if I could help it."

"Why?" Harry asked, his face darkening.

"You're my best friend, Harry. You're the only real friend I've ever had. After the war, I mean, fuck, you were there that summer. It was bloody unbearable and you and Hermione were the only two sane people in the entire country! I – I needed you, Harry. And you left and I couldn't handle it. I suppose if the same thing happened now, I might have been able to be a bit more mature about it, but… at the time… I needed something to focus on, to help take my mind off all the shit that happened with the war. I had to find you, it was the only way… the only way, I thought, that I'd ever be sane again, ever feel normal again."

Harry stared at Ron for a long moment before moving his gaze to his own feet. "It's shit like that, everybody needing me, everybody wanting me around for their own fucking benefit… that's what made me leave, Ron. I wanted to keep helping, I really did. I didn't kill Voldemort for nothing, and I pictured myself rebuilding Hogwarts and joining the Ministry and making it a better place and, and having influence over things and then, maybe… maybe retiring from being an Auror and going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. That was my dream."

"So, what happened?" Ron prompted quietly.

Harry sighed heavily. "I turned into the worst fucking poster boy I'd ever been and no one cared. Not a single bloody person cared that I was being spread too thinly and that my – my needs were going completely ignored. The war fucking devastated me. I was exhausted and I could never sleep and I was never hungry. I was so damn depressed all the time – what with, with Remus and… and Tonks… and they were gone and their son was – and fucking Colin Creevy and, and… and Fred." Harry shook his head. "It was far too much. I felt so fucking responsible and like I couldn't say no to anyone and like it was my _duty_ to finally be used to represent the Ministry because it was doing good things, and I just…"

He took a deep breath to steady himself and Ron watched the regret flood his face as he realized how personal and revealing his rant had been.

"I just needed to get out," he said calmly. "I needed to get out on my own as much as you needed to find me, it seems." He tried smiling up at Ron. "I don't imagine it was much easier on anyone else after the war, and I wasn't trying to be selfish or – or say that my pain was the only pain that mattered. I just… felt like I was losing myself completely. And no one noticed and I didn't feel like I could ask anyone for help because I felt like no one understood me or even knew who I was at that point. Mostly because I didn't know who I was at that point, either. My entire life had built up to killing Voldemort and once it was done… I got a bit lost, is all."

The two men sat in silence for several long moments, each lost in his own memories.

"Believe it or not," Ron finally said, "we did notice. Hermione and I did, at least. And Ginny, too. We all knew something was wrong, and we saw what they were doing to you, what they were asking of you. We tried… to make it easier on you… I guess it didn't show. We thought it would be better once Auror training had started… we were just waiting for that, for things to settle down naturally…"

Harry shrugged and inspected his thumbnail closely. "I died to save everyone. I literally gave everything I had to give, but that wasn't enough for them. For anyone. I didn't have anything else for them."

"I know, mate."

Harry looked up. "I'm sorry I hurt you. And everyone else, especially Ginny. I did love her. And it was… it wasn't an easy decision, to leave. It… it hurt, a lot. And of course I miss you all. It killed me for the first few years, being on my own and not knowing what you all were doing or if… but eventually I just had to stop thinking about it. Survival skills, you know. I had left to find myself and to stop wallowing in misery. So I put it all behind me and… well, here I am. Brand new man."

Ron smirked slightly. "You hair looks bloody stupid, by the way."

"What? No it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does," Ron insisted, laughing.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he said, standing. "Now that we're done spilling our hearts like girls, I think I'll go home. Emily probably thinks we're shagging by now."

"Er." Ron looked stupidly up at Harry.

"It was a joke," Harry said blankly.

"Oh. Right." Ron stood and followed Harry to the door. "Thanks for coming over."

"Thanks for… letting me."

They shook hands and Harry left with a smile on his face. Ron lay back down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, replaying the conversation with Harry over and over again in his head. It was good, he felt, to finally hear an explanation for Harry's sudden departure. Still, he knew he would have to tread lightly in this new "rekindled friendship." If he got too close or too needy, or appeared to get too close or too needy, he feared that Harry would cut himself off again.

 

 

**Chapter Nine: Ron and Hermione (and Harry)**

_Hermione,  
I think I'm going to stay here for a little while longer. Harry apologized for being such a prat and said he'd like to try to rekindle our friendship. His words, not mine. So, I agreed to stay for a while. He also told me why he left, more or less. He said he felt suffocated by everything that was going on, especially with the Ministry and stuff. Apparently he thought that no one noticed what was going on with him. He's always been a bit blind and self-centered though, so I guess it's not a huge surprise that he just decided to cut himself off from everyone so completely. I tried to tell him that we all noticed how hard things were on him, but it's really not going to make much difference at this point, is it? What's done is done and he says he's sorry for hurting everyone, especially Ginny, and that he does miss us all quite a bit. I guess he's not such a bastard after all. I'm not sure what to expect from me staying around. He's been with Emily for so long that I doubt he will leave her to come back to England. I also doubt he would invite her along. She'd probably be a bit upset about the whole wizard thing. Also, he can do magic without a wand but he won't tell me how yet. To be honest, now that I've found him and talked with him and fought with him and made up with him, I don't know what I'm doing here anymore. There is nothing much for me to do except see Harry or sit in my hotel watching the telly. I miss you (and everyone else) very much. Tell them all I say hello and send my love and that I will home as soon as possible, though I really don't know when that will be because I have to stay with Harry for a while.  
Sorry for the rambling, Ron_

Ron folded up the letter, stuffed it into an envelope, and tossed it onto the table near the window. He sighed and lay back down on his bed, wishing he had an owl or something better to do than going to the post office to buy a stamp.

"Bugger," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. It was almost dinner time and the only thing he had done that day, besides writing the letter, was take a shower and go down to the hotel restaurant for lunch. He slipped his hand under his shirt to scratch his stomach. Humming a random melody, he tapped his fingers on his skin, moving slowly down his body until he was drumming on his denim-clad cock

"Buggerbuggerbugger," he said quickly as he felt blood rushing to his crotch and his cock twitching hopefully. Vaguely wishing he had anything else to do, Ron undid his jeans and pushed them, along with his pants, down onto his thighs. He pulled slowly on his cock, working it into a fully erect state. He watched his hand carefully, trying to imagine it was someone else's, or that he was touching someone else's penis. The endless freckles on his hand and the red hair at the base of his cock made both fantasies falter.

Ron heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes, fighting off the image of Harry kissing the man on the porch that immediately popped into his mind. He rubbed the tips of two of his fingers in circles on the underside of the head of his cock and arched his back, biting back a whimper.

There was a soft pop somewhere to the right of him and Ron opened his eyes to find Harry standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking horrified.

"Fuck, sorry!" Harry practically shouted, turning around and looking resolutely down at his shoes. "Sorry. Um. Sorry."

Ron, still holding his cock, blinked. "Er." He glanced down at himself and quickly pulled up his jeans, wincing at his now trapped and uncomfortable erection. He sat up and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry about that…"

"No." Harry turned around cautiously. "My fault, sorry. I shouldn't have just popped in like that."

Ron crossed his legs. "Are you ever going to tell me how you do that?"

Harry smiled slightly. "Maybe if you stop asking."

"Har har." Ron shifted slightly on the bed, trying to control his erection, but it was refusing to go down. "So, er, what… what's up?"

"Oh, right, um, I was wondering if you want to go out for dinner, but if you're… busy…"

Ron flushed. "No, I'm – I mean, I'd like to go out for dinner."

"Okay, well if… I mean, we can go now, or… or meet up later…"

"Now's fine," Ron said firmly, standing up. He grabbed his jacket and followed Harry out the door, glancing down to check that his predicament wasn't too obvious. Unfortunately, it was quite noticeable. He put his jacket on and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping it would go down by the time they reached wherever it was they were going.

"What are you in the mood for?" Harry asked as they walked down the street.

"Anything. I don't really know what's here… mostly I've been eating in the hotel."

Harry glanced sideways at Ron. "Didn't you say you'd been here for two weeks?"

"Yeah."

"Turned into a bit of a hermit?"

"Shut up," Ron muttered, taking his hands out of his pockets and pulling his jacket tighter around him, almost glad for the chilly night air that had finally calmed down his body. "The weather here is crap, did you know that?"

"Were you expecting anything else, considering where we are?"

"No. I just don't know how you stand it. It must get cold as fuck in the winter."

"Not quite as cold as a fuck, no."

Ron nudged Harry playfully with his shoulder, and Harry stumbled sideways slightly, laughing.

"How about Chinese?" Harry asked, nodding towards an upcoming restaurant.

Ron's stomach growled appreciatively at the thought. "Excellent."

He followed Harry into the large, yet empty, restaurant, and they were immediately seated to one side in a secluded corner. Ron shrugged off his jacket and slung it on the back of his chair before sitting down.

"Is it not dinner time?" he asked as he placed his napkin in his lap, glancing around.

Harry shrugged. "It's a bit early, I guess." He picked up his menu and flipped through it silently for a few minutes, and Ron did the same. After they ordered their food, Harry leaned back in his chair and studied Ron's face carefully.

Ron shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "Er…"

"What happened, exactly, between you and Hermione?"

Heaving a sigh, Ron adjusted himself in the slightly awkward chair until he found a comfortable position. "You really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

Ron nodded vaguely and took a sip of his water before starting. "Well, we stayed together for about… nearly four and a half years by the end of it, I think. Things were more or less fine, at first. You were there, and then… and then you weren't and I… well, Hermione and Ginny were back at school and I really didn't have much to do. I traveled a lot that year, and Hermione and I would write to each other and we would see each other on holidays or sometimes I would go up to Hogsmeade for a weekend. I think… that was probably the best year we had together. Which, considering we barely ever saw each other, should really tell you something."

"I should have thought that year would have been the worst, not being able to see each other every day like you were so used to doing."

"Would have made sense," Ron agreed with a nod. "But, like I said, that year was probably the best. Or, maybe 'calmest' is a better word. Anyway, she finished Hogwarts and we got a flat in London. She was working for the ministry and I was back in Auror training… and things were good, for a while. She was a little, er, hesitant, I guess, about the fact that I was still looking for you. We'd gathered by that point that you'd made the decision to leave yourself, and… she was sort of coming around to the idea that maybe we should just leave you alone." Ron stared at Harry's collarbone, not wanting to see the expression on his face. "We started off with these 'discussions' about it, and they led to more, er… well, louder… arguments. And then, by the third year, we were having some rather large fights. I'd left for the summer, to look for you, and she decided that I needed to stop, and she told me so when I got back. I told her I wasn't going to stop, and there were several months of… pretty intense arguing. I would get angry with her and leave the flat, and if it was a Friday, I'd usually spend the whole weekend Apparating to random spots to find you. I knew it would just upset her even more, but that was partially why I did it – to find you and to piss off Hermione."

Harry spluttered slightly. "But – but – why would you purposely make her angry? Didn't you, I mean, you loved her and you were living together…"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "You're telling me you never once had a fight with Emily that ended with you wanting to do something just to make her even more upset with you?"

Harry conceded with a shrug. "Well, yeah, alright, but that seems much less extreme than you disappearing for a weekend to find someone you both knew didn't want to be found. Why didn't you just listen to her?"

"I told you, Harry," Ron said quietly. "I needed to find you. I needed you back. I didn't want to be in bloody Auror training without you. That had been _our_ dream, not just mine. It wasn't… it wasn't the same. It felt wrong without you there. Everything did. Every… every breath, every day, every step, it was all so bloody empty and Hermione and I… there was only so much we could do for each other. But we weren't enough and… and all of our problems were just exacerbated by the… the total destruction that was the war… and by the gaping hole in both of our lives. The gaping hole between us."

Ron glanced cautiously up at Harry and was met with a shocked, slightly saddened expression.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, trying to make light of what he had just said. "Listen to me, going on like we were an old married couple that lost a child. The point is, really, that I was distraught and I wanted to find my best mate again and I wasn't about to stop looking because I'm a stubborn knob. I got the idea in my head that I needed to find you and I wasn't going to let anything or anyone, even Hermione, stand in my way."

Harry nodded feebly, drumming his fingers on his legs. "Um. So, you and Hermione broke up because you wouldn't stop looking for me?"

"Ah, well, no, actually. That was more like… the beginning of the end. We kept at it because we loved each other, and, honestly, at that point, we didn't really have anyone else. Things were starting to noticeably improve for the first time and our work schedules both eased up a bit when I actually became an Auror. I usually worked shorter days and she switched departments and had a more manageable workload… things seemed to be pretty okay for a while. She stopped yelling at me for looking for you and just let me do what I needed to do. I thought that would more or less be the end of it… it seemed like we'd managed to settle into something… worthwhile, sustainable."

The conversation paused as their food arrived. Ron stabbed at the rice on his plate with a fork, watching the steam rise.

"This is quite a boring story, isn't it?" he asked, hoping Harry would take the hint and change the subject.

"No," Harry said firmly. "I want to hear what happened."

"Honestly, Harry, it's not an especially flattering tale for either of us. And after this point, it doesn't have anything to do with you or you leaving, so…"

"So? Mates tell each other things. Had I been there, you would have been telling me all about it. I wasn't there, so we're making up for lost time. You tell me how you and Hermione split, and I'll tell you some story about myself."

"Did you break up with a girlfriend you'd had for over four years? No."

Harry sighed and took a bit of his food, wincing as his tongue and throat burned. "Look, if you really don't want to tell me–"

"I'll tell you," Ron said quickly. "If we're going to rekindle this friendship, then we're going to do it right. It was just – a very awkward time and – I haven't thought about it in years. It's all quite far behind us now and we… we don't dwell on it."

Harry nodded. "Sorry if I was pushy–"

"No, it's fine. I'll just," Ron paused to eat a forkful of vegetables, "finish the story." He swallowed and paused again, staring down at his food. "Right, so, I started working as an Auror and things were mostly good and then Christmas rolled around and Hermione decided that we should be in a more casual relationship."

"More cas–"

"More open, less rules, more freedom, fewer expectations," Ron rattled off. "She just wanted us to cool things down a bit. It made sense at the time, since we were… we were quite serious about each other and sometimes it was all just very… heavy, grave, even. It was a very serious relationship, strangely so. And she decided that it needed – that _we_ needed to lighten up a bit. Because when we had more time to be together because of our easier work schedules, then we spent every waking non-work second together and it got a bit… suffocating at times, to be honest. We weren't fighting about you anymore, but there was plenty of bickering."

"I can imagine."

"Quite." Ron took another bite of his dinner. "Anyway, so we tried this 'open relationship' thing and it really didn't do much because we were both too afraid to really do anything less than what we were already doing, or to do anything with anyone else. So, things stayed more or less the same except that the bickering increased because we were so intent on _not_ bickering. And…. summer was coming and I told her I was going out to look for you. And she asked me to reconsider. And I refused. And she told me that she wanted to take a break from the relationship for the summer, since I wasn't going to be around, anyway."

"This is all very dramatic," Harry said with a slight smile. "I mean, not that sixth year wasn't horrendous in every way, but you both seemed very calm after you finally got together."

"It was a short-lived calm." Ron sighed. "So, I moved in with George for a few days before setting out and Lee was around and… well, he started hitting on me, and I thought that would be a pretty good way to piss off Hermione again, so… we snogged. Er. Quite a bit."

Ron chanced a glance up at Harry, whose mouth was hanging open and whose arm was frozen in midair. Some noodles slipped off his fork and landed back on his plate with a squishy _gloop_ and Harry blinked.

"You snogged Lee to get back at Hermione for breaking up with you."

"We didn't break up, we were on a break."

"Whatever – you snogged Lee."

"Yeah."

"But you don't do that."

"I don't?"

"No, _I_ do that."

Ron leaned forward quickly. "You snogged Lee?" he demanded in a low voice.

"What – no! I meant, you don't snog blokes. _I_ snog blokes."

Ron sat up straight again, shrugging. "Yeah, well… you're not the only one. I don't know what else there is to say."

"But you're straight!"

"So were you, as far as I knew, until a few days ago."

Harry waved his hand, dismissing this. "Yeah, but, that's different. I've always – you're not the type…"

"Illogical, Harry. You said yesterday you felt like no one knew who you were before you left. If that's the case, then you couldn't have possibly known who we all were. You kept it a secret, and so did I. Either neither of us knew the other or we both knew each other quite well. We're both surprised that the other shags blokes. I didn't think _you_ were the type."

Harry ignored all but one word of this speech. "Shag? Did you shag Lee?"

"Eventually."

"Jesus Christ, Ron."

"Come off it, Harry. It can't really be all that shocking."

"I – you – oh, fuck off." Harry huffed loudly and shoveled food into his mouth.

Ron watched him eat, bemused. "Do you want to hear the rest of it?" he asked after a moment. Harry nodded, so he continued. "Lee and I snogged and I made sure that Hermione found out before I left, but I didn't give her a chance to talk to me about it. I came back many weeks later and she was fuming that I had actually done anything with someone else, because apparently she wasn't planning on using the break in our relationship for any sort of sex. Plus, she was, as you are, quite flabbergasted and maybe even a bit offended that I would do… such a thing. With a bloke, I mean. With Lee. She had no idea, basically, that it was something I had ever wanted to do, and so she decided to be offended by that as well, since I had never confided in her."

Ron stopped his story to eat more of his dinner, afraid it would go cold by the time he finally finished. Harry, however, was not going to wait.

"Is that how you broke up, then?"

"No," Ron said through a mouth full of food. "Not exactly." He swallowed and took a sip of water. "We had about a decade's worth of 'discussions' and decided to try things again, still casual. But… there was a Ministry party and I got a bit… er, well, I was quite pissed and Lee was there and we snogged a bit and Hermione was pretty pissed as well, and she lost her head and broke up with me, so I went home with Lee and… well, we messed around a bit, but we were too drunk to do anything too significant. So, the next day I went back to the flat and Hermione and I spent most of the day just eating each other's souls out until we decided that we should actually break up, since we hadn't had more than a few good weeks together since she'd left Hogwarts. We left it open-ended at the time, thinking that if we gave ourselves some space and time that we would eventually get back together and, you know, live the life we'd both been dreaming about for so long."

"But?"

"But… I… was a bit preoccupied with work and looking for you and shagging Lee. And she was a but preoccupied with work and trying not to tell me off for looking for you and spending time with Ginny and Neville, who, by the way, dated for about a minute somewhere around the time that Hermione and I broke up."

Harry pursed his lips. "So… you snogged Lee and Hermione broke up with you and then stole Neville from Ginny?"

"Something like that," Ron said with a smile. "Except that Ginny and Neville were broken up for quite some time before he got with Hermione."

"That was fascinating, truly. All of it."

"Well, that's what I'm here for, sheer entertainment value." Ron shrugged and continued eating his lukewarm dinner.

"I can't believe you shagged Lee," Harry said.

Ron shrugged. "Well, I did. Quite a bit. For quite a while."

"Were you dating him?"

"Er, no. Never that. He's… he never wanted a relationship. With anyone, really. Never has. And I wasn't that interested in a relationship at the time, either, since I'd just got out of one. It was just a… physical… thing. A sex thing. I think he was probably sleeping with other people as well, but I never asked. I didn't especially care. It was never anything serious between us. Just sort of… when we both had the time and were both up for it…"

Harry nodded. "Right. Is – is Hermione – was that the only relationship you've ever had, then?"

Ron glared up at Harry. "What do you think?"

Harry shrugged innocently. "I was just asking."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I've had much time for – for relationships."

"What with all the stalking."

"I wasn't bloody–"

"I know," Harry interrupted him, laughing. "I was kidding."

"Har har." Ron sighed and took a long gulp of water. "Look, I've just laid my heart on the table with all that nonsense. Where's the story you promised me?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Well… you were right. I don't have a story like that to tell. You know how things ended with Ginny. And now I'm with Emily."

"Tell me how you met her, then."

"Okay, but it's not a very exciting story. I was working in a bar that she came to a lot. Eventually we got to know each other and, after a while, I noticed that she seemed to have a bit of a thing for me. I thought she was cute, so I asked her out for dinner, and, uh… yeah. That's more or less the end of it. Like I said, not very exciting," Harry said dismissively.

Ron shrugged and said nothing because his mouth was filled to bursting point with food. He finished his dinner as Harry recounted the early days of his relationship with Emily, how they had ended up moving in together, and why they had decided to move to Scotland.

"I was a bit worried, to be honest, about being back in the UK… back in Britain. It seemed stupid to come back after being gone for so long. I was worried that – that I would run into someone or – or something. It's been fine, though. This is a small town."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well… anyway."

"So, there aren't any other wizards around here?"

Harry glanced around the restaurant quickly, but they were still quite isolated. "Say it a little louder next time."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Do you really think working as an Auror for all those years made me lazy about secrecy? I knew no one was listening. Answer my question."

"No, there's no one else around. Not that I know of, anyway. It's probable that there's a family on the outskirts, or maybe a – a Muggle-born somewhere, but I've never come across anything and no one has shown any signs of recognizing me, so…"

Ron nodded and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. "That was good," he said, nodding at his empty plate.

Harry smiled. "Glad you liked it." He checked his watch. "Well, I have to run home and take a shower before work, but, uh, you can come visit me there later, if you'd like."

"Where, at your pub?"

Harry nodded and gave Ron directions to his work. After agreeing on a good time for Ron to show up, they paid for their dinner and left the restaurant.

"Um," Harry said awkwardly, standing on the street corner. "I'll see you later tonight, then?"

"Yeah, most likely. Unless I find something more exciting to do."

"Such as?"

"Eating my own limbs."

"Uh, right." Harry laughed and shook Ron's hand before turning and walking up the street. Ron stared after him for a moment, then pulled his jacket tighter around himself and headed down the street back to his hotel.

 

 

**Chapter Ten: The Pub**

_Hermione,  
Fuck. Fuck it all. He keeps asking why I was so determined to find him, why I looked for so long. It's getting harder and harder to suppress the urge I have to scream out, "Because I was fucking in love with you, you bastard!" Except, I couldn't possibly say that because I wasn't in love with him. Because that would have been absurd. He was my best friend, plain and simple. But he's so infuriating and I don't know what to tell him. And, fuck, yes, he is gorgeous as ever and his eyes are much more intense now that he's older and more mature and now that there aren't any glasses over them or fringe in them all the time. I can't get my mind around him, I can't figure him out, I can't get inside him. He was so hostile at first, and then he apologized and spilled his heart out, and now he's going on as if nothing ever changed, as if we've been best mates all these years. I have no idea what he is thinking. Ever. He's unreadable. Does he like that I'm here? I don't know. Would he rather I just go home already? I don't know. What does he mean by a "rekindled friendship"? I don't know. Why was he so indignantly shocked to find out that I sleep with men? I don't know. I don't know anything about this man, and yet we are somehow best friends. It is so easy to fall into normal conversation with him, to joke around and laugh like we did so many years ago. It is so easy to find comfort in his eyes and his smile and his voice. And fuck._

Ron crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. He checked his watch and sighed. There was still more than an hour before he was supposed to go to the pub. He had already taken a shower, had a wank, watched the telly, taken another shower, and written this failed letter to Hermione. He had no idea what to do with himself and he felt extremely on edge. Harry was growing more confusing by the second and Ron still felt that he had no idea what he was doing in this town. What was Harry expecting to happen? What did Harry want to happen?

"Bloody buggering fucking twat."

With a loud grunt, Ron got up from the table and went to the window, staring out at the bay behind the hotel. He hated being in this hotel, in this town, on this island, in this country with absolutely nothing to do but wait around to spend time with Harry. He hadn't had days like this, days where he wasn't spending all of his time and effort on the search for his long lost best friend, in so many years that he found it almost intolerable. Now that he had finally found Harry, he had no idea what to do with himself.

Deciding that he couldn't wait any longer without losing his mind completely, Ron grabbed his jacket and headed out. The night air was a harsh, yet welcome distraction from his jumbled thoughts. As he made his way to the pub, Ron made a note of all the stores, restaurants, and bars he would make a point to visit in his free time. He needed something, anything to do other than sit in his hotel room.

When he reached the pub, he paused to look up at it. Harry had told him that the building would stand out, and he was right. It was a strangely modern, cube-like building stuck in the middle of older, stone buildings along the waterfront. Ron turned away from the bar and stared out at the water for a moment, trying to gather himself. Just a pub, he thought, just calm the fuck down already. Taking a deep breath, he turned again and entered the building.

It was a small place with a rather large bar in one corner. Ron immediately spotted Harry, who was pulling a pint and chatting up a young woman, and headed over. The woman left the bar with her pint and Ron grabbed her empty stool quickly.

"You came," Harry said with a grin.

Ron blinked. "You asked me to.

"Indeed, I did. What can I get for you?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Surprise me. Something dark."

"Spoken like a true Weasley." Harry grabbed a clean glass and moved over to the taps.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You dad," Harry said as though it were obvious. "Never saw him with a light drink in his hand, be it tea or ale. Except firewhisky."

Ron glanced around, but no one seemed to have heard. "Quite an odd observation."

Harry placed the glass, filled to the brim with ominously dark ale, in front of Ron. "How's that? I practically lived at your house for seven years and it's odd that I noticed your dad's drinking habits?"

Ron shrugged and sipped a bit of the head before picking up the glass and downing a mouthful. "Fuck, that's good."

Harry grinned. "It's the darkest we've got. Excuse me."

Ron watched, slowly sipping his drink, as Harry talked with and served the other patrons. He was friendly and easygoing, flirtatious at times, and obviously comfortable with his job. His eyebrow piercing sheened slightly when he moved around in the light and his odd haircut seemed perfectly normal in this setting.

When his glass was half empty, Ron set it down and glanced around the rest of the room. There were a few tables with small groups huddled around them, talking quietly amongst themselves. He wished he knew anyone else in the town besides Harry.

"How is it?"

Ron turned around to see Harry standing in front of him again, smiling widely. "Oh. It's good. Great, actually. Delicious."

"Good." Harry set his elbows on the bar and leaned forward. "You look quite bored."

Ron sighed dramatically. "I'm drowning in self-misery, actually."

"Oh, right. Close enough. I thought it was something like that."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I don't exactly know anyone here."

"Which is a shame, really. It's a great town."

"I can't understand half the things they're saying," Ron said in a low voice.

Harry grinned. "Bloody Englishman. Don't ever say that any louder."

"Seriously, though, Harry. How do you put up with it all the time?"

Harry shrugged and stood up straight again. "You get used to it. Sorry." He winked and went over to the other side of the bar to help someone else.

Ron sighed and picked up his glass again to take a large gulp. He stared openly at Harry, watching him make drinks and talk to people. He seemed to know almost everyone around the bar and would sometimes spot a person and get their drink ready before it was ordered. He seemed to be very much in his element, working with his hands and making small talk with his friends and neighbours. Ron could understand the appeal of this work for Harry, who wanted to be in control and yet did not want a lot of attention. People didn't come to the pub to chat with him, they came to spend time with their friends. He was their bartender, a friendly face with access to any sort of alcohol they wanted, but he was not the main attraction.

Finally, after Ron had finished his ale and had it refilled by another bartender, he saw Harry come around the other side of the bar and sit on the empty barstool next to him.

"You could try mingling. Talking to people. That's kind of what this establishment is all about, is it not? These people don't bite, you know."

Ron shrugged and reached out to brush his fingers over the lightening scar on Harry's forehead. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but did not flinch or pull away.

"You don't care anymore?" Ron asked. "You don't care if people see it?"

"Not really. It doesn't mean anything to anyone I know. Just a scar from the car crash that killed my parents. Usually I don't even get that far into the story. Just a scar from a car crash. Useful little tale… it can explain most of my scars."

Ron shook his head. "What about your hand?"

Harry showed it to Ron. "It's pretty faded by now. You can't really tell it used to say something." When Ron continued drunkenly shaking his head, Harry frowned and leaned forward to look at him better. "You're still quite the lightweight, aren't you?"

"That shit was strong." Ron nodded at his mostly empty glass.

"True, but you only had one."

"That's my second, actually."

"Oh. Well, whatever, you're still a lightweight."

"Shut up," Ron said, smiling.

"Well." Harry checked his watch. "I get off at one, if you want to stick around that long. Otherwise, I guess you can go back whenever you'd like. You don't really seem like you're having a good time."

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I might head off when I finish this. Or maybe I'll get another. We'll see."

Harry nodded and put his hand on Ron's shoulder as he stood up. "Talk to you in a bit, then," he said as he headed behind the bar again.

Ron finished his second glass quickly and asked Harry for another a few minutes later.

"There you are." Harry set the full glass in front of Ron. "You should go easy on it. I'd really rather not have you passed out somewhere on the street tonight."

"Har har. I can handle myself, Harry. I'm not even that drunk. Just, you know…"

"Tipsy?"

"Tipsy," Ron said, raising his glass in a mock toast before drinking it.

Harry laughed. "You really haven't changed."

Ron put the glass down and glared at Harry. "Haven't I? Do I still look 18, then?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No." He paused and looked at Ron carefully. "You look good, though. Really."

"Are you flirting with me?" Ron asked blankly.

"Yes. I'm madly in love with you. Won't you come home with me tonight?"

"Your sense of humor has changed quite a bit," Ron mumbled into his ale before downing more of it.

"I didn't have a sense of humor back then. I'll be back." He moved over a few inches to talk to someone else, and Ron turned back to his drink.

"Hello, there."

Ron glanced up at the man who had sat down next to him. To his horror, he realized that it was the same man he had seen smoking on Harry's porch.

"Hi," he managed.

"I've never seen you here before," the man said casually. "Are you new?"

"I'm not from around here. Just visiting."

"Ah, you're English."

"Yes."

"Welcome, then."

"Er, thanks." Ron sipped awkwardly at his ale.

"So, you two have met, then."

Ron looked up at Harry's voice.

"Er…" he said stupidly.

"Nearly," said the other man. He held out his hand to Ron. "I'm Andy."

"Ron." They shook hands and Ron turned back to Harry, who looked as though he was having a very hard time holding back a grin.

"Friend of yours from home?" Andy asked Harry.

Harry nodded. "Indeed he is. You two talk, I'll be back."

Ron watched Harry go, wishing he had left the pub after his second drink.

"How long are you here for?" Andy asked.

"Er, dunno, really. Long as I want, I guess."

"Right, right. How are you enjoying it?"

"Er. I haven't really… done or seen much, yet. Just spent some time with Harry…"

"I see. Well, if you're ever looking for something to do, you should 'phone me. I can… show you around. Harry's got my number."

Ron opened his mouth to say that he didn't have a 'phone, but decided against it. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." He glanced towards the door and sighed. "Doesn't it ever get dark?"

"Eventually. If you stay up late enough, it might get a bit dark. You came at a good time, though. In the winter, it's quite the opposite. Very little light."

"Hm." Ron tapped his fingers on his glass.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're very attractive," Andy said frankly.

Ron blushed fiercely despite his best efforts not to. He found this situation entirely too absurd to handle. The man he had seen kissing Harry was now hitting on him in the bar where Harry worked. He wanted to leave.

"I – er, thank you." After a long and awkward pause, he took a deep breath and turned to face Andy. He wasn't bad looking, by any means. He was tall and lean, but looked very muscular under his shirt. His blond hair was short and untidy, and his face, with light blue eyes and mischievous smile, was a bit too much for Ron to handle at the moment. He blushed again. "You – you're attractive, too."

Andy grinned. "Thanks. So, are you an ex of Harry's?"

Ron attempted a smile. "No, no. We're just – I'm just a friend. An old friend. Nothing… nothing like that."

"Right. Didn't think I'd ever heard him mention a Ron."

Ron took a long swig of ale. "Are you an ex, then?" he asked, unsure what else to say.

"Not exactly," Andy said, grinning flirtatiously. "He's with Emily, you know. But, sometimes… well, they've got their open arrangement… thing, and, uh, sometimes… stuff happens." He shrugged lightly.

Ron nodded and put his now empty glass down. "Right. Well, I've got to go, but it was nice meeting you, Andy," he said quickly as he stood. "Night, Harry," he called out as he left, not waiting to hear a response. He reached the door and glanced behind him for a second to see Harry leaning over the bar, gossiping with Andy. He fled the pub and walked home as fast as he could, staring up at the light sky and wishing he were back in London.

 **Chapter Eleven: Harry's Got Issues**  
  
Ron woke up the next morning when his stomach lurched dangerously. He groaned and rolled onto his back, flinging his arm over his eyes and pleading to Merlin that he could just sleep it off.  
  
Two hours later, he opened his eyes again and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven o'clock, but he felt much better than he had the first time he had woken up. He sat up with a grunt and stretched his arms up over his head.  
  
"Morning."  
  
Ron flailed wildly, tried to stand up, got tangled in his sheets, and landed on the floor with a thud.  
  
"Fucking hell, Harry," he moaned, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Harry's laughter. "Don't ever fucking do that again!"  
  
"But it was so worth it."  
  
"Fuck you." Ron managed to extract his limbs and stand up. "Could you be any creepier?" he asked, glaring at Harry, who was sitting at the small table by the window.  
  
"Probably. I could have hidden in your shower. Or under your invisibility cloak."  
  
"Har har." Ron rubbed his eyes sleepily and stifled a yawn. "What are you doing here, anyway?"  
  
"Came to say hi. Thought you'd be up by now."  
  
"Didn't you learn your lesson last time? Maybe you shouldn't wandlessly Apparate into my hotel room anymore."  
  
"You're really obsessed with the whole wandless thing, aren't you?"  
  
"It is quite intriguing, yes."  
  
Harry smiled. "So, did you enjoy yourself last night?"  
  
"Not particularly, no."  
  
"Oh… not even with Andy?"  
  
"Especially not with Andy," Ron said grumpily, sitting on the edge of the bed to face Harry.  
  
"But… but you were all sad about not knowing anyone there…"  
  
"Did you send him over to talk to me?" Ron demanded.  
  
"No. I was just glad when he did because you looked lonely."  
  
"I wasn't lonely. I didn't need anything from your – your – whatever he is."  
  
"My friend?"  
  
"Friend, fine, if that's what you want to call it."  
  
Harry glared across the room. "He's my friend, Ron."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"What are you so angry about?"  
  
"Why am I here?"  
  
Harry blinked, startled. "What?"  
  
"Why am I here, Harry? What are we doing?"  
  
"We're talking?"  
  
"No, you… fuck. What am I doing here, in this town, on this bloody island? You said you wanted to rekindle our friendship, but honestly, it doesn't seem like there's a whole lot of work to be put into that. After the initial… awkward… anger stuff, we're pretty much doing just fine. So why am I here? Because it doesn't really seem like you're about to give up your life here to come back home with me, and I'm certainly not going to stay here forever just to be friends with you. So what are we doing?"  
  
Ron stared intently at Harry, who was looking back uneasily.  
  
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I really don't have an answer. I thought we'd just… play it by ear. Work things out as they came. I guess… I guess we ended up having less problems with that than I thought we would, so… so now we're just sort of…"  
  
"Exactly. What are we doing? I can't hang around here for no reason. It's driving me insane, this stupid town and these stupid people–"  
  
"Ron, come off it. It's not that bad here. You haven't given it a chance."  
  
"But why should I? Why should I stay? What's going to happen? Are you going to leave with me? No. Am I going to move here? No. So why am I staying?"  
  
"I – I thought… I thought you wanted to… spend time together," Harry said uncertainly. "You spent fifteen years looking for me and you're going to leave after a week just because you're uncertain about the future?"  
  
"Yes," Ron said shortly, ignoring the slightly crestfallen look on Harry's face. "I don't want to waste my time here for nothing, Harry. I've wasted fifteen years already. I want to start living again."  
  
"Oh, so now looking for me was a waste? Yesterday I was a gaping hole in your life, and today I'm a waste of time?"  
  
Ron sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "Could we possibly have this conversation when I'm not groggy as fuck?"  
  
"No, because now I'm worried that you're just going to leave without telling me."  
  
"I don't do that, Harry. That's what you do," Ron spat.  
  
"Fuck off." Harry sighed heavily and reached in his coat pocket. "Mind if I smoke?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fine." Harry put the pack of cigarettes onto the table and drummed his fingers on it. "Is me going home with you the only goal you have? Is that the only reason you'd stay?"  
  
"More or less."  
  
"What's the more?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What's the other reason you'd stay?"  
  
"Harry," Ron huffed and ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly. "Look, would you just tell me what you want out of me staying here? I will stay if there is a reason, but right now, I don't have one, and I feel like I'm going out of my mind sitting in this bloody hotel room all fucking day every fucking day."  
  
"Am I not enough of a reason?" Harry asked quietly.  
  
"Don't pull that shit," Ron practically shouted. "Don't play games with me, Harry. If I say no, you'll act all offended and tell me to shove off home. If I say yes, you'll act all weird and insecure about the fact that I value you and your friendship and we'll be back at bloody fucking square one. You've got issues about being needed. I get it. I do. Don't bring them up like that. I'm not stupid."  
  
Harry sat there, his fingers laying limply on the cigarettes, looking dumbfounded. "Sorry," he muttered. "I – fuck."  
  
"I know you too well. And you are enough of a reason to stay. You're more than enough, and you know it. You know how much you mean to me the same way that I know how much I mean to you. People can't go through what we went through and not know each other or mean the world to each other. The only difference is that you can't handle it. Maybe Emily knows you well enough to hide that she needs you, or maybe you need her more than she needs you. Whatever game you're playing with her, sleeping with other people, it doesn't matter. You love her, and I can see that. And I know it scares the fuck out of you. It's natural, it's human, it's normal. That's how love works, that's how relationships work. The only difference is that you can't handle it. And I know that about you, and I would never… I would never hurt you, Harry. I'm just trying to figure out if you're going to hurt me again."  
  
"Christ, Ron," Harry muttered, hunching over and covering his face with his hands. "You can't just come out of nowhere after fifteen years and start saying shit like that."  
  
"Clearly I can," Ron said under his breath.  
  
Harry heaved an unsteady sigh and stood up. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a small voice as he picked up the cigarettes. "But I am going for a smoke."  
  
"I'll be down in a minute," Ron called as Harry walked out of the room. He stared at the empty doorway for a moment before flopping down on the bed. "Bloody hell, where did that come from?"  
  
He lay there for a moment, trying to collect his wildly scattered thoughts. After a few minutes, he got up and dressed himself. He hurried out of the hotel to find Harry sitting on the bench outside. Ron sat down next to Harry, who offered him the pack of cigarettes, but he waved it away.  
  
"Not social enough for you?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Not in the mood."  
  
Harry nodded and continued smoking his cigarette in silence.  
  
"I've got issues about being needed," he said softly, tossing the cigarette butt onto the pavement. "I need Emily more than she needs me. You've been here less than a week… and you know all this already. I've got… I've got issues about being… known. I like this town. I like these people. I like being somewhere where no one knows anything about my past. What I've done. What I can do. What happened to me. To us. I like anonymity. That isn't an option in England. It's barely an option in Scotland. I consider myself very lucky that no one has found me out. But you." He turned to look at Ron. "You know everything there is to know, now. The only possible secrets I could have from you now are that sometimes I sleep with men and sometimes I use drugs. You already know about both of those things. What else is there to say?"  
  
Ron stared down at the pavement, watching Harry's cigarette butt burn out. "There's plenty more to say. People are made up of more than their past and their sex lives and their drug use. I don't know everything there is to know about you, Harry. I doubt anyone ever could. You're not that simple. No one is."  
  
Harry nodded. "You have changed."  
  
Ron looked up. "What?"  
  
"I keep saying that you haven't changed, but you have. You were never so serious before. And certainly never so… insightful."  
  
Ron shrugged and leaned back in the bench, sticking his long legs out in front of him and cross them at the ankles. "We're old, Harry. Things are bound to have changed by now."  
  
"You might be old, but I'm young as fuck. Fit as a fiddle."  
  
"Young as fuck?" Ron laughed. "You're 32, mate."  
  
"Yeah, but you're 33 and that's inexcusably old."  
  
"You're right. I'm inches from the grave."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Exactly," Ron echoed. He cleared his throat awkwardly when Harry said nothing in response. "Well… this has been a very weird day, so far."  
  
"Truer words there never were."  
  
Ron smirked. "I don't know about you, but I need to take a shower and get some lunch in me. What are your plans?"  
  
"Nothing. No plans. I'm off work tonight, so… I've got all the time in the world to do nothing."  
  
"Well… we could have lunch, I suppose. If you don't mind waiting for me to wash, first."  
  
"I could probably use a shower, too. Can I pop back in an hour?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You'll be dressed?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"With your hands free?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, mum."  
  
"Good. See you in an hour." Harry stood and started walking back to his house. Ron watched him leave for a few minutes, then got up and headed back to his room for a long, hot shower.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Twelve: The Broch**  
  
After eating lunch in a small café near the hotel, Harry and Ron spent the day wandering around the town. Harry took them past tourist spots and historical sites, rattling off made-up facts to entertain Ron. Their conversation was light and easy, filled with laughter and comfortable, amiable silences. They walked around for hours, apparently not going anywhere in particular, until Harry veered them onto a large road that seemed to lead away from the town.  
  
"Where are we going?" Ron asked after a few minutes.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
"You're not going to tell me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"That's creepy."  
  
"No, it's fun and mysterious."  
  
"My feet hurt."  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
Ron smiled and kept walking, ignoring the pain in his feet and enjoying the view of green grass on one side of the road, and of blue ocean on the other.  
  
"We wouldn't happen to be going to that large stone thing, would we?" he asked a while later, pointing to a large structure in the distance.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"A broch."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A broch."  
  
"Am I supposed to know what that means?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Okay…"  
  
"It's a large stone thing, basically."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"It's a nice place to walk around."  
  
"We've already walked around quite a bit."  
  
"It's a nice place to sit and relax."  
  
Ron smiled. "That's more like it."  
  
"You're easy to please."  
  
"You're… easy… to… wease," Ron finished his comeback lamely.  
  
"Um. What?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Okay, then." Harry laughed and turned right, walking straight toward the broch. Ron followed, watching as the stone mass grew bigger and bigger in front of him. They stopped in front of it and Ron took in the serenity of the old building sitting in a field surrounded by water.  
  
"It's about 3,000 years old," Harry explained.  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows. "Honestly? Or are you making things up again?"  
  
"Honestly. 3,000 years old."  
  
Ron gave a low whistle and started walking again. "Come on, then," he called to Harry. "I want to touch it."  
  
Harry laughed and watched as Ron approached a wall and paused before laying his hands on it.  
  
"How's it feel?" Harry asked, catching up.  
  
"Old." Ron took his hands off and turned towards Harry. "Well?"  
  
"Well, what?"  
  
"Well, now what do we do?"  
  
"Walk around. Look at it."  
  
"It looks like a large stone thing."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on." He led Ron through the entrance.  
  
"You like this shit, don't you?" Ron asked, walking around the interior with one hand on the wall.  
  
"What shit?"  
  
"Old shit."  
  
Harry laughed. "I guess, yeah. I think it's interesting. We can go back out if you want."  
  
Ron shrugged but followed Harry outside. They walked around the broch, picked a patch of grass that overlooked the water, and sat.  
  
"This is a nice place," Ron conceded, staring sleepily at the hills beyond. "Peaceful, quiet, pretty… and old, of course."  
  
"Of course," Harry agreed, putting his hands behind his head and lying down.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Ron asked quietly a few minutes later.  
  
"Hm."  
  
"You and Emily…"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"I don't… understand. You said you need her more than she needs you. You admit to it. Is that healthy?"  
  
Harry propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Ron. "Probably not the healthiest. It's not as if she doesn't love me. It's just… I mean, it's perfectly reasonable. This is the town she grew up in, this is where all of her oldest friends are, this is where her family lives. She is quite literally the only person I have, whilst she has… you know, many. She knows I'm… a bit more dependent on her than she is on me. It makes sense. I don't have family or friends here, but she does. It's not some sick lopsided thing. It just is what it is."  
  
Ron nodded, taking this in. "So she's not hiding how much she needs you because she knows it will freak you out?"  
  
"Um. No. No, I don't think so."  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"And you both sleep with other people?"  
  
Harry sighed and lay back down. "Sort of. Yes."  
  
"Sort of yes?"  
  
"We, I mean… she generally only sleeps with other people when it's… when there's someone else there, when there's three of us."  
  
"Threesomes?" Ron asked, looking over his shoulder at Harry with a smirk.  
  
"Yeah. Other than that… she doesn't… it's pretty infrequent."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Me… I – I don't do much. If the opportunity arises… maybe. It's not a very frequent occurrence for either of us, Andy being somewhat of an exception."  
  
"How's he an exception?"  
  
"He… we've just messed around quite a bit lately. Sometimes with Emily, sometimes… not with Emily."  
  
"Do you fancy him, then? Or is it just about sex?"  
  
Harry sat up and shrugged, looking at the tiny waves in the water. "It's mostly about sex. We're friends, but it's not… it's not anything more than that, really. I would never leave Emily for him or anything like that."  
  
"Do you prefer women?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you prefer women? For sex? Or relationships? I mean, you've been with Ginny and Emily and presumably you've slept with a few other men and women, but you've only dated women. Do you prefer them?"  
  
"How do you know I've only dated women?"  
  
"Have you dated men?"  
  
"No," Harry mumbled. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't, though."  
  
"So you don't prefer women?"  
  
Harry sighed. "I don't know, Ron. Do you really have a preference?"  
  
Ron nodded but said nothing.  
  
"Well," Harry muttered, "I – I don't know if I do. I haven't dated men, so I can't really say which I prefer. I'd like to date a man, if I got the chance. I'm not so desperate to do so that I would break up with Emily for no other reason, though. And… as for sex… I don't really think it matters. How much I enjoy it isn't based on… anatomy or anything. It just depends on the person. I like sex with Emily, I like sex with Andy. There's an emotional difference, yes, because I love her and I don't love him. Other than that…"  
  
Ron lay down on the grass now, watching the clouds. "See, I told you I didn't know everything that there is to know about you."  
  
"Yet."  
  
"Yet."  
  
"So." Harry picked at the grass by his feet. "Which do you prefer?"  
  
"I… I prefer men," Ron answered quietly. "I still have sex with women, of course, and I love it. Not a thing wrong with it. But I don't think I would want to date one again. Or, maybe I would, but I wouldn't actively seek out another relationship with a woman."  
  
"Did Hermione turn you gay?" Harry asked, grinning.  
  
"No," Ron said seriously. "No one turned me. I've always been this way. It just took me a while to… show it."  
  
"You knew back at Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yes." Ron sat up again. "Didn't you?"  
  
Harry nodded. "You're really something else, Ron. All these long, serious conversations. Like you've matured beyond anything anyone would have expected from you."  
  
"That you can blame on Hermione," Ron said, smiling. "It's amazing what happens when you spend every second of your life with her for so many years. I started analyzing shit just so she wouldn't always be the first one to do it. I wanted to know things about myself before she did, for once."  
  
"And she never knew you fancy men?"  
  
"No. Not until Lee, anyway."  
  
"I can't imagine the look on her face," Harry said, smiling slightly.  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah. It was… epic. I can't wait to go home and tell her you're a poofter, too."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"Are too."  
  
"Am not."  
  
"This isn't very mature, anymore," Ron teased.  
  
Harry braced himself on Ron's shoulder as he stood, then held out his hand to help Ron up, too. "I'm going to go home for dinner," he said as they started off toward the main road again. "You're invited, of course. Or we can meet up later for drinks."  
  
"I think I need another shower, to be honest. I wouldn't want to offend your lovely girlfriend with my horrible stench. But, yeah, I'd be up for drinks tonight."  
  
"Good. You can't avoid her forever, you know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Emily. You're avoiding her."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"Sod off, Harry."  
  
Harry laughed and stopped walking, looking around. After he was sure that there were no other people or cars around, he grabbed Ron's arm and spun.  
  
They landed in Ron's hotel room. Ron stumbled slightly.  
  
"Fuck, Harry. I told you to warn me next time you did that."  
  
"Sorry. I thought it was obvious what I was going to do."  
  
Ron turned his head slowly to either side, cracking his neck. "Fuck, I'm exhausted."  
  
"Well, get your shower, have something to eat, and I'll be back in a few hours."  
  
"Do you want to tell me when?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Okay, okay." Harry checked his watch. "How about nine o'clock?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Okay, then. See you at nine." He gave a wave and spun again, Disapparating with a small pop.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Thirteen: Drunken Debauchery**  
  
"You know," Ron said, his words running together slightly. "I think… this town, it – it has some really… good alcohol."  
  
"It's true." Harry grinned across the table at his drunken friend. "Very good booze in this town."  
  
"Are you drunk yet?"  
  
"I – yeah, a bit," Harry admitted, smiling into his empty shot glass. "I'm getting another. D'you want?"  
  
"Er… n-no. I mean, wait, shit, yes, I do."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay." Harry got up and came back a few minutes later with two glasses. "One for you, one for me."  
  
"What is it?" Ron asked, looking at the murky liquid.  
  
"A Dark 'n' Stormy."  
  
"Never had one before."  
  
"It's got black rum in it."  
  
"Lovely." Ron picked up his glass. "To fucking Scotland."  
  
"To fucking Scotland," Harry repeated, knocking his glass lightly against Ron's. They both drank. Harry pulled a face and set his down after a moment. "Shite."  
  
"Tha's outstanding," Ron declared happily, raising his glass to eyelevel and peering into it. "Really outstanding."  
  
"It'll knock you out," Harry said, noting Ron's already heavily flushed face.  
  
"I'm fine," Ron insisted. "You haven't really seen me drink. I ca' hold a lot."  
  
"I'm sure you can." Harry looked back down at his drink, took a deep breath, and had another sip.  
  
"You don' look too happy abou' it."  
  
"Not really my thing," Harry admitted. "It's good, though. I think I like it."  
  
"Well, drink it, then! I don' wan' be the only one pissed."  
  
An hour later, Ron had stopped drinking and Harry had resorted back to vodka shots.  
  
"You love wodka," Ron said, smiling as Harry downed his shot with a twitch.  
  
"I am a fan," Harry admitted stupidly after he gulped down some orange juice. "Shite."  
  
"Shi-ite." Ron leaned forward over the table. "D'you know what's the time?"  
  
Harry checked his watch. "It's nearly one."  
  
"D'you have t'get home?"  
  
"No." Harry leaned over the table as well and reached out to run his fingers through Ron's messy mane. "I love your hair."  
  
"Er." Ron blinked stupidly. "Harry."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You're… petting me."  
  
"I am." Harry sighed and reluctantly dragged his hand away. "Let's go back to your room."  
  
"Why?" Ron asked apprehensively, suddenly feeling sober.  
  
"Because you live there and I'm too drunk to walk home just yet. C'mon." Harry stood and pulled Ron up with him. They put their coats on and went out into the night.  
  
"Bloody fucking sun," Ron muttered, crossing his arms and bowing his head against the wind. "Looks like two in the bleeding afternoon."  
  
"It does. It does that, here, every summer. And in the winter…"  
  
Ron listened vaguely to Harry's ramblings as they walked back to his hotel. He was too drunk to make any decisions about what he should do, but he had a feeling that, even sober, he wouldn't have had any brilliant ideas.  
  
"Ron."  
  
"Hm – what?" Ron snapped out of his thoughts and looked back at where Harry had stopped walking.  
  
"Isn't this your hotel?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah." He backtracked and led the way up to his room. Before he had even closed the door, Harry had bolted to the toilet to relieve his bladder.  
  
"Blimey!" Harry called out to no one in particular.  
  
Ron laughed and shed his jacket as well as his shoes. He sat down on the edge of his bed, turned on the telly, and flipped through the channels until Harry reemerged.  
  
"Is there anything on?" Harry asked, sitting himself practically on top of Ron.  
  
"Er… no. Not really."  
  
Harry leaned forward and turned the telly off before turning to Ron and pulling the remote out of his hands. "I really want to kiss you."  
  
Ron's hand moved into Harry's hair of its own accord. "You – you're… we're drunk, Harry. Completely bloody arseholed."  
  
"So? God, I want to kiss you all the fucking time."  
  
"Harry," Ron whined, his hand sliding down to Harry's arm. "Don't do this."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I didn't – it'll – fuck, Harry. It'll fuck everything up. I won' – I won' be able t'leave if we do this."  
  
"Good." Harry lifted his hand to caress Ron's hair again. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay."  
  
"I loved you," Ron whispered, pressing their foreheads together.  
  
"I know," Harry soothed him. "I loved you, too."  
  
"Fuck." Ron closed his eyes and gulped, focusing on the lips that were so close to his, that were breathing on his, that were… touching his.  
  
Ron grabbed Harry's head with both of his hands, holding their mouths together. He had wanted this for so long that he didn't even know what to do with himself now. He was frozen, confusion and arousal flooding his senses. Finally, after a few long and panicky moments, Harry's lips moved against his again, and he relaxed in Harry's grip. Their hands swam over each other's bodies, touching skin they had only dreamt of touching, exploring curves and angles.  
  
"Ron," Harry muttered against Ron's neck as he adjusted himself on the bed in an attempt to straddle Ron's thighs. "Budge up."  
  
Ron slid out from underneath Harry and scooted backwards until his head hit the wall. He sat there, awkwardly propped up on the pillows, as Harry crawled up the bed and draped himself over Ron's long, warm body. He sat atop Ron's thighs and looked down at Ron's chest, running his hands over every inch.  
  
"What abou' – do, do you need Emily's… permission or, or something?" Ron asked, leaning up slightly so Harry could yank his shirt off over his head.  
  
"Would you shut up for once?" Harry asked, grinning and moving his hands over the newly exposed skin. "Just bloody go with it."  
  
"M'not very good a'that," Ron admitted, staring as Harry's fingertips drew wide circles around his nipples.  
  
"Clearly." Harry leaned down to kiss Ron again, and Ron's hands flew to Harry's waist to pull his shirt up and touch his hot skin.  
  
Ron wanted to take Harry's shirt off completely, but he didn't want to break the kiss. He wanted to kiss Harry forever, to be stuck in this moment forever, when all they had or needed was each other and it didn't matter where they were, what would happen in the morning, or what anyone else would say. They had each other and that was all either of them needed. Ron had been dreaming about this for years, even if he would never admit it to himself or let himself indulge in any of those fantasies. Finding Harry, seeing Harry kiss Andy, hearing Harry talk about sleeping with men – it was all torture for Ron. He grabbed Harry's arse roughly, squeezing the muscular cheeks in his hands and moaning into Harry's eager mouth.  
  
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Harry said breathlessly, leaning back slightly and taking off his own shirt. He moved back down to kiss Ron briefly, then moved his lips over Ron's neck and chest. Ron, panting quietly, watched as Harry kissed a trail to his navel. Then, in one swift movement, Harry sat up and unclasped Ron's jeans. Ron hissed as Harry wrapped one hand around his straining cock. "Gorgeous," Harry repeated, staring down at the cock he was stroking intently.  
  
"Mmmm, Harry – Merlin." Ron struggled to keep his eyes open as Harry gripped him harder, stroked him faster. He gasped quietly each time Harry twisted his hand over his head, each time Harry squeezed the base of his cock, each time Harry's other hand brushed over his balls. "Come back," he pleaded, reaching out and grabbing Harry's head.  
  
They kissed roughly, one of Harry's hands sandwiched between their bodies, working Ron's cock with a drunken fury, the other bracing himself on the bed. Ron's hands dug into Harry's short hair, pulling on it roughly, as his hips rocked in time with Harry's slightly erratic rhythm.  
  
"Fuck, Harry," Ron muttered against Harry's lips.  
  
"Yes." Harry scraped his teeth along one of Ron's ears, causing Ron to shudder beneath him. He placed another long kiss on Ron's wet, swollen lips before sliding down Ron's body and licking up the pre-cum that was sliding down the head of his cock.  
  
Ron bit back a high-pitched moan and arched his neck, trying to remember how to breathe as Harry's tongue played on his cock. He had had plenty of blowjobs in his lifetime, but never from Harry Potter. He had seen plenty of black-haired people with their mouths around his cock, but never with those green eyes staring up at him. He felt dizzy with arousal.  
  
"Harry," he gasped as Harry flicked his tongue over Ron's balls. "Please, fuck, I'm – fuck, close, Harry – _Harry_."  
  
Harry licked back up to the tip of Ron's cock and sucked on it enthusiastically, his hand gripping the rest of Ron's length. Ron's loud cry turned into a long moan as his body tensed and twitched. He reached out blindly and gripped Harry's shoulder tightly as he came into Harry's mouth.  
  
"Har – _ah_ – fuck, Harry," Ron panted heavily as Harry continued licking his hard cock. "Fuck, oh, fuck." He lay limply on the bed, gasping and shivering with aftershocks as Harry's tongue stayed on him. "Come back," he mumbled, placing a tired hand on the back of Harry's neck and pulling him up for a kiss. "Fuck all, tha' was brilliant."  
  
Harry grinned widely. "Glad you liked it."  
  
Ron smiled and took a deep, calming breath, trying to steady his heart rate. "I really, _really_ have to piss. D'you mind waiting a mo?"  
  
Laughing, Harry rolled to the side and let Ron get off the bed. When Ron came back a minute later, his jeans left on the floor, he found Harry lying naked on the bed, purposefully stroking his cock.  
  
"Fuck," Ron whimpered, feeling his own cock stirring again as he climbed onto the bed. "Fuck, you're hot."  
  
"Fuck, you've got a filthy mouth," Harry teased, moving his hand to his balls and squeezing them.  
  
"This is absurd, do you realize?" Ron asked as he wrapped his own hand around Harry's cock. "I mean – you're, you're Harry Bloody Fucking Tit Potter, and I've got my hand on your bleeding cock."  
  
"Yes, you do," Harry said with a grin, leaning back to watch Ron.  
  
"I mean." Ron moved his hand up and down Harry's cock, causing Harry to squirm slightly beneath him, his hips trying to demand more. "I mean, d'you have _any_ idea how long I've wanted t'touch your bleeding cock?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Bloody _ages_ ," Ron moaned, his other hand moving to caress Harry's balls. "Ages and ages and you're _so_ much better than anything I imagined."  
  
"Are you always this talkative after you come?" Harry asked, rocking his hips forcefully to speed up Ron's hand.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Nice."  
  
Ron smiled and winked before leaning down to lick Harry's cock. Harry spread his legs wider and groaned in surprise when Ron's tongue flicked his perineum. Ron teased Harry carefully and slowly, moving his tongue and fingers over Harry's cock, balls, and arse. He bit at Harry's muscular inner thighs, ran his hands over Harry's defined hip bones, surged up to nip at Harry's tight, hard nipples. He watched as Harry gradually fell apart under him, the carefully composed and maintained walls crumbling farther with each gasp and moan.  
  
Finally, when Harry's pleas were almost incomprehensible and Ron felt it would be inhumane to keep him on the edge any longer, he sucked briefly on two of his fingers before pushing them into Harry's arse. Harry gasped, his back arching off the bed, and Ron placed his mouth over Harry's leaking cock again.  
  
Harry, who had been keeping up a steady stream of curses and moans and pleads until now, merely gasped loudly at each jolt of pleasure through his body as he came. Ron listened to Harry's intense breathing as his fingers slowly fucked Harry's arse, as he swallowed strand after strand of Harry's hot come.  
  
"Ron," Harry finally rasped, grabbing Ron's hair and forcefully pulling him up.  
  
They kissed lazily, slowly, deeply. Ron pulled back slightly and looked down at Harry's trembling body.  
  
"Cold?"  
  
"No," Harry whispered, panting heavily. He leaned up to kiss the tip of Ron's nose before collapsing back on the bed. "Christ."  
  
Ron, smiling, rolled onto his back. "M'so drunk," he said unnecessarily. "I never would've done tha' sober. Sorry."  
  
"Exactly what are you apologizing for?"  
  
"Dunno." Ron moved onto his side and looked at Harry. "You sure you're drunk?"  
  
"Very. Why?"  
  
"You don' sound drunk. Th'way you talk."  
  
"It's an art," Harry said before yawning.  
  
"D'you wan' sleep here?" Ron asked, hesitantly putting his hand on Harry's sweaty chest.  
  
"Can I?"  
  
"'Course."  
  
"Good." Harry turned toward Ron and curled up. "M'too tired to go home."  
  
Ron got off the bed and managed to pull the sheets out from under Harry. He turned off the light and climbed back into the bed, draping the sheets over them both.  
  
"G'night, Harry," Ron whispered, tracing Harry's lips with a fingertip.  
  
Harry puckered slightly, kissing Ron's finger. "Night," he mumbled.  
  
Ron lay on his side, facing Harry. He ran his fingers through Harry's short hair as Harry fell asleep, wishing it were still shaggy and tugable. When Harry's breathing was slow and deep, Ron moved his hand to Harry's bare hip and closed his eyes, hoping to wake up in the morning and relive this day all over again.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Fourteen: The Morning After**  
  
"Bugger."  
  
Ron opened one eye and found himself staring into Harry's bleary face.  
  
"Bugger," Harry repeated, pressing his body against Ron's and running one hand through Ron's tangled hair.  
  
"Wha?"  
  
"We shouldn't have done that," Harry whispered against Ron's lips before kissing them. "We really shouldn't have."  
  
"Wha?" Ron repeated, blinking rapidly and trying to bring Harry's face into focus. "What… where are we?"  
  
"Your hotel room."  
  
"Oh. Right." Ron shifted in an attempt to stretch, but froze halfway through the motion. "Oh, fuck."  
  
"Exactly," Harry said with a smile.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Ron moaned, covering his face with one hand. "Bloody buggering fuck twat fuck hell."  
  
Harry laughed and pulled Ron's hand away from his face. "I wasn't that bad, was I?"  
  
"Merlin, no." Ron groaned and rolled onto his back, forcing Harry to let go of his head. "Fuck, you were brilliant. Oh, shit. This is so bad."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You sound bloody thrilled by it, actually."  
  
"Well, I am… a bit. Aren't you?" Harry asked uncertainly.  
  
"No," Ron crossed his arms defiantly and stared up at the ceiling. "Definitely not. I'm pissed off and filled with regret. Shit, my head hurts."  
  
"That'd be all the rum."  
  
Ron groaned again and glanced over at Harry. "We shouldn't have done that."  
  
"So I said."  
  
"Now what do we do?"  
  
"Well, the way I see it, we've got… I'm too tired to count, but we've got some options," Harry said as he lay on his back.  
  
"And what are they, O Great Mathematician?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Well, we could stop talking about it right now and try to pretend it never happened and go on with our lives."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Or, we could say it was a one-time thing, a mistake, a result of too much to drink, and then try to pretend it never happened and go on with our lives."  
  
"Mhm," Ron muttered as he arched his back and curled his toes in an attempt to wake up properly.  
  
"Or, we could talk about it some and… see where it goes from there. Figure out what we both want."  
  
"I want a bloody hangover potion."  
  
"Do you have one with you?"  
  
"No." Ron sighed. "I ran out."  
  
"Do you have any Muggle medicine? Painkillers or anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I'm afraid I can't help you."  
  
"Oh, sod off," Ron whined lowly and rolled onto his stomach, planting his face into the pillow.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
Ron muttered a response into the pillow.  
  
"We really should try to talk about this… just a bit…"  
  
"I know." Ron heaved himself into a sitting position. "Just… let me take a shower first, wake up a bit more."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
Ron got out of the bed and walked awkwardly into the bathroom, unsure how to feel about his nudity. He closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against it, wondering how he had managed to do the only two things he had promised himself he wouldn't do: sleep with Harry, and fall for Harry.  
  
After relieving his uncomfortably full bladder, he stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, wincing through the stinging pain and trying to relax. He had no idea what to do. If he told Harry how he really felt, in more detail than he had the previous night anyway, then where would that leave him? Harry had been with Emily for six years and wasn't about to leave her for some school friend, especially one who lived in London, the one place to which Harry was sure never to return.  
  
When he couldn't stand the boiling water any longer, he got out of the shower and dried himself off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back out into the room. Harry was sitting up on the edge of the bed, still naked except for his tight, dark blue briefs. Ron tore his eyes away and moved to the dresser, ignoring Harry and dropping the towel to pull on pants and jeans.  
  
"How much of last night do you remember?" Harry asked when Ron finally turned around.  
  
"More or less all of it… I think," Ron said as he sat down in the chair next to the telly.  
  
Harry adjusted himself on the bed so that he sat cross-legged and facing Ron. "Do you… I mean, you seem pretty upset about it."  
  
Ron shrugged. "I don't know. I just… feel like it's going to cause a lot of complications that I… would rather do without."  
  
"So, you think it wasn't worth it? You'd rather it hadn't happened?"  
  
"Unfortunately, no." Ron sighed and twisted a few strands of wet hair around his fingers. "I think that… I could never regret it. I enjoyed it too much, and, to be perfectly honest, I think that I will… probably cherish that memory for… a long… quite possibly forever." He looked down at his feet, knowing that his face was bright red.  
  
"You said," Harry said, practically whispering. "You said, last night, that you loved me. Past tense. That you loved me… before?"  
  
Ron groaned. "Yeah, and as I recall, you said it right back to me," he said, looking up to face Harry.  
  
Harry nodded. "I did." When Ron continued staring blankly at him, he continued. "Seventh year… that summer… when, when I left, I left because, not entirely because, but partially because… because I loved you. And… I loved Ginny. I loved you both and I didn't know what to do. You were my best mate, the first friend I ever had, the only one who… who seemed to even vaguely understand me, even more than Hermione, because I never had to explain myself to you, you just understood. It was, oh, God, it was unbearable to be with Ginny and not be able to be with you as well. I just – I just wanted to kiss you. It was driving me mad. And all the time I was struggling to recover from the war and struggling with the Ministry and struggling with every little bloody thing that happened… there was this voice in the back of my head telling me that everything would be so much easier if I could just… be with you." He sighed heavily and Ron could practically hear the years of sadness and confusion pouring out of him. "So, I left. For many reasons, including that one. Yes, I loved you. And yes, it killed me a little inside."  
  
Ron shook his head and stared intently out the window. "This is… insane, Harry. We can't keep going on like this, with these absurdly deep heart-to-hearts we have _every bloody day_. You loved me and you left me. You left me and my entire world came crashing down so fucking hard I thought I was going to suffocate under the weight of the realization that I was madly fucking in love with you. Fifteen bloody years wasted because we were both too fucking scared to admit that to each other when we were 18."  
  
"We can admit it to each other now," Harry suggested softly.  
  
Ron glared at him. "Don't," he warned. "Don't you dare say it."  
  
"Can't we just–"  
  
"No, Harry, we can't. Because as soon as I tell you how much I care, you're going to freak out and leave."  
  
Harry frowned. "No, I'm not."  
  
"Yes, you are," Ron insisted. "Because that's what you do. You realize how much people love you and need you and you freak out and you leave."  
  
"You'd be surprised at how much a person grows over fifteen years," Harry said dryly. "Try me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Try me."  
  
"No," Ron said firmly.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you're never going to come back to England, are you?" Ron demanded suddenly. Harry shook his head slowly, staring down at his feet. "Exactly," Ron continued. "That's where I need to be. That's where my family is. That's where I _want_ to be. And if you won't ever go there… then what are we doing?"  
  
"Jesus, Ron, why do you have to be so fucking…" Harry stood and started pacing, waving his hand through the air as he struggled to find words.  
  
"You're the one who wanted to talk about it," Ron said lamely, watching Harry as he moved repeatedly between the bathroom door and the bed.  
  
Harry gestured rudely in Ron's direction. "You're impossible, Ron. You go on and on last night about how much you've always wanted me, how long you've wanted me, and today you're just going to sit there and tell me that we can never even try to work this out."  
  
"Work what out? You're with Emily!"  
  
Harry stopped pacing and turned to scowl at Ron. "You know I would rather be with you, don't you? You can't be that fucking blind! Why do you think I've been trying so hard to regain your trust, your friendship? Why do you think I've been laying my heart out to you on a daily basis? Why do you think I didn't hex you and demand that you leave me the fuck alone, which, if you had been anyone else showing up on my doorstep like that, I bloody well would have done? Because you mean the entire fucking world to me, you stupid arse!" Harry shouted. "You show up on my doorstep and I thought I had bloody died and gone to heaven, Ron, because you're the only person from my past that I ever fucking think about anymore. You're the only person I ever _really_ wanted to see again. You're the only… you're fucking Ronald Weasley and you just have _no_ bloody idea what you mean to me or how amazing you are. You never have and you probably never will because you're so fucking blinded by other people that you never bother realizing that you're _fucking brilliant_."  
  
"Shut up, Harry," Ron muttered. "Just… shut up. You have no idea who I am or how I view myself, okay?"  
  
"Yes, I do," Harry said, sitting back down on the bed. "I was there, with the locket, remember? And I know that you're more… analytical now, more in tune to what you're… feeling, or whatever. But I also know that you're still hiding behind your feelings for me. That you think that you're the only one here who is torn apart by this. That you think you love me and know me more than I love and know you. Well, you're wrong. I enjoy listening to your revelations about me, I do. But don't think I don't have some about you, as well. You're not as guarded as you think."  
  
Ron sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Can we stop arguing now?" he asked pathetically. "I'm too hungover for this. I love you, you love me, we're in a tough spot, let's just… stop fighting about it. Please."  
  
"I would love to."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Good." Harry took a deep breath and lay back on the bed. "I always thought we'd be perfectly happy to be together. No bickering, no fighting. Just bliss."  
  
"Yeah. That's a nice fantasy."  
  
"Indeed," Harry agreed. He sat up to face Ron again. "So, what… what should we do now? I mean… is that it? Are we just… giving up, leaving it alone? Or…"  
  
"I don't know. I really don't. What… what do you think?"  
  
"I think," Harry said dramatically, "I think we should both think it over a while. Just… figure out what we want, what we need… and then we try to take it from there. Without the arguing."  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah. Sounds like… probably the best we can do, for now."  
  
Harry stood up again. "Well, I… I have to get home… get changed… run some errands…"  
  
Ron stood up and watched awkwardly as Harry pulled on the rest of clothes. "I… er… bye, I guess."  
  
"Can I kiss you?" Harry asked in a small voice.  
  
Ron smiled despite his best efforts not to. "Yeah, of course."  
  
Harry took a step forward and placed his dry lips to Ron's. He swallowed loudly and licked his lips, wetting Ron's at the same time. Ron wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed Harry harder, hoping desperately that, somehow, they would get the chance to kiss again. Harry squeezed Ron tightly for a second, then stepped back, forcing Ron to drop his arms.  
  
"I'll see you later," he said quietly.  
  
"Yeah." Ron nodded and watched as Harry left. "See you later."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Fifteen: The Broch Again**  
  
After staring mindlessly at the telly for a while, Ron eventually made his way down to the hotel restaurant for lunch. He ate as much as he could, but found that he had almost no appetite. He was exhausted and depressed and wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and stay there for a week. However, he knew that it would do him no good. He also knew that he should write to Hermione to update her, and that writing out his thoughts would help him clarify the situation and how he felt about it. The idea of telling Hermione that he had slept with Harry, though, was too daunting.  
  
Instead of writing to Hermione or burying himself in his bed sheets, Ron decided to walk back to the broch to think. His feet and legs were sore from walking so much the day before, but the pain was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. By the time he reached the broch, his legs felt like jelly, but his head felt clearer than it had all day. He settled down in the same place he had sat with Harry before and looked out over the water.  
  
Of course he loved Harry. There was no getting around that, especially now. The problem, suddenly, was not how to hide that fact from Harry, or even from himself, but how to… how to let Harry go. Ron would not move to Scotland. He had spent too much time away from his friends and family in England. Unlike Harry, he needed to have more than one person. He needed his siblings and their spouses and children. He needed his parents. He needed Hermione, the woman he had loved for a long time, but never as much as he had loved Harry. The woman who had stayed by his side for fifteen years, supporting him as much as she could, even if she didn't agree with his choices. The woman he had hurt deeply and who still cared for him, regardless.  
  
He needed to be back in England. The pull was overwhelming and Harry was the only thing keeping him in Scotland. But Ron refused to be that needy, that isolated. He couldn't stand the idea of living in this small town for the rest of his life. Harry moved here for Emily, so that she could be near her family. However, Ron knew he wouldn't move to England so that Ron could be near his own family.  
  
Just then, however… Ron certainly couldn't leave Harry. Not after what had happened the night before. He'd gone too far to turn back now. But he couldn't see any other choices: move to Scotland to stay with Harry, or move back to England without him. He could try to convince Harry to go back home, but Harry had been avoiding the place for fifteen years for a reason, and just as Harry wasn't enough to keep Ron in Scotland, Ron didn't think he was enough to move Harry to England.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Ron hung his head and sighed, thinking that he should have stopped drinking sooner, that he should have stopped Harry last night, that he should have stopped himself last night. It would have been hard to leave Harry in Scotland before, but now he thought it might kill him.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Sixteen: Back at Harry's House**  
  
Ron knocked loudly on Harry's front door. After a moment, to his dismay, Emily opened the door.  
  
"Ron," she said, unsmiling. "Can I help you?'  
  
"Er," Ron peered at her. "Is – is Harry home? I wondered… if I could speak to him for a moment."  
  
"Hang on." She closed the door rudely in his face.  
  
Ron bit his lip. "That's not good…" He loitered on the doorstep for a few minutes, feeling especially creepy. Finally, just as he was ready to go back to the hotel and try again the next day, the door opened again.  
  
"Hey," Harry said, opening the door wider. "Come on in."  
  
Ron stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He watched as Emily came in from the kitchen and disappeared upstairs, stomping loudly the whole way.  
  
"Er… is she okay?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry shrugged. "She's fine." He sounded even more exhausted than he had that morning. "What's up?"  
  
"Oh, er, just… just wondering if you had a minute to talk."  
  
Harry glanced at the staircase. "Um, okay. Let's go… out the back."  
  
Ron followed Harry out the back door and sat himself at the table as Harry looked up to make sure all the first floor windows were closed.  
  
"Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said shortly, sitting down next to Ron. He glanced up at the windows again. "She's just… pissed off."  
  
"Yeah, I… noticed."  
  
"Sorry if she was rude to you. She's… she's a bit upset about… last night."  
  
"Oh. Er… can I ask why?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "We don't have rules or anything about having to ask ahead of time if we can sleep with someone else. I'm allowed to do what I want, but she feels like, because you're an old friend, she should have been… notified, at the very least, if not asked permission, before you and I… did anything."  
  
"Oh." Ron looked up at the windows, too. "Do you think she would have agreed to it?"  
  
"By the sounds of it, probably not." Harry sighed. "In which case, I'm glad I didn't ask her, because then I would have had to go behind her back with it… and that's not ever something I would like to do."  
  
"Yeah." Ron looked back over at Harry. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be. It's certainly not your fault. There's other… I told her I didn't want to buy a cat and she's… angry about that, as well."  
  
Ron frowned. "She's angry that you don't want to buy a cat?"  
  
"Well, we'd been planning on buying one… we were supposed to go today, actually. But… well, I was… having second thoughts. It just seemed like a strange thing to do at the moment, considering… considering all… of this. So, I told her I'd rather not do it just now and… well, you saw her. She's not thrilled me with at the moment."  
  
"No," Ron agreed, wracking his brains.  
  
"Anyway." Harry adjusted his chair so that he was facing Ron. "Come to talk?"  
  
"Yeah, a bit." Ron ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "I… I can't stay here in Scotland, forever. In this town. I can't do it. I need to be back at home, with my family. I've spent so long away from them, from everyone, and I – I miss home, and I need to be there again. I'm not like you, Harry. I can't uproot myself like you did."  
  
"But, you have," Harry reminded him gently. "You've been gone for years–"  
  
"Yes, but not permanently. I go back, when I can. I stay in touch. I dream about the day when I get to go home for good. I dream about seeing Hermione again, about settling back into some sort of normal routine with all of the people I know and love and – and need. I've never been as solitary as you are. I can't be. It's not in my nature… with the house I grew up in… I just need to be around people I know and love. And I know and love you, Harry, more than anyone else… but…"  
  
"But I'm not enough."  
  
"It – it's not like that. Not… not exactly. I mean, in the same vein… I'm not enough for you, either."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
"I'm not enough for you to move back to England."  
  
Harry crossed his arms. "Is this it, then?" he asked dejectedly.  
  
"No. I mean, it doesn't have to be."  
  
"What do you suggest, then?"  
  
"I suggest that you… listen to what I have to say about you moving back."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Is that why you've come? To convince me to go back to bloody England?"  
  
Ron sighed. "I suppose."  
  
"Well. Let's have it, then."  
  
"Have what?"  
  
"Have all your stabs at convincing me."  
  
"You're just going to shoot me down."  
  
Harry blinked and then uncrossed his arms. "Sorry. I'll… I'll try to keep an open mind."  
  
Not really believing this, Ron took a steadying breath and began. "Well, first off, there's, you know… everyone. All of our – all of your friends and everyone who loved you. You've been gone for so long – fifteen years – I doubt at this point that anyone would be upset to have you come home. No one would yell or demand things. They'd just be glad to see you, be glad to have you back in their lives. And it could be quiet, too. I would make sure that no one – that no one made a big deal out of it. No publicity or anything. There's actually some really good privacy laws now, so no slag journalists can… no one will be in your face about it. And the Ministry, it's changed so much since you've been gone. They don't – obviously they have better things to do than fawn over teenaged boys or, or men in their thirties. No one would be bothering you about anything. It's been fifteen years since the war ended and… and they've all got much better things to do than obsess over you and ask you for help. The Ministry's doing quite well, actually. It's a really good place and… and I'm sure they'd all, Kingsley especially, make sure that… that no one was bothering you too much."  
  
Harry shook his head sadly. "Ron, I can't… I can't go back now. It's been too long. I'm not… I'm not used to it. To magic. To the Ministry. To all that. It's so foreign to me now, when I think about it. And you say that it wouldn't be a big deal if I came back, but you know it would. You know people would talk and – and if I'm with you, then, come on, Ron, you honestly think that's going to be ignored? A war hero comes back after fifteen years with his gay lover and you expect people to just pretend like that's completely normal?"  
  
"You don't know what it's like now," Ron insisted. "It's quite liberal. No one cares about… about that stuff. Everyone knows Dumbledore was gay and no one cares about that. Lee is openly gay and no one cares about that. I mean, you think that hot gossip will ruin everything, but it won't. Hermione married Neville, and they were two major figures in the war, and no one made a scene. It was quiet, it was calm, and it was just two people in love. It's calmed down a lot over the past fifteen years, Harry. I know it's a scary thought to go back, I'm uneasy about it, too. It's been a very long time since I've been back for longer than a week, but I honestly don't expect anyone to ring any bells when I go back, regardless of who I bring with me. Everyone has got better things to do than bother two old war heroes that are shacking up."  
  
Harry stared down at his feet, taking in everything Ron was saying. "I'm… I'm trying to convince myself that what you're saying is true. I am. And I'm not trying to be narcissistic or anything, and I hate that this is true because it's… unfair to you and so many others, but… I've always been… they've always been more interested in me than in anyone else. And you might go back quietly and Hermione and Neville might get hitched quietly, but if I go back – even our friends, even your family – it won't be quiet. It will be loud and, and, and…"  
  
"Loud with celebrations. Loud with happiness that you've come back. Not loud in the papers, not loud in the Ministry."  
  
"Ron…" Harry sighed heavily. "I don't know what to tell you. I'll think about it. But… I left because I hated the way people looked at me. Hated the way they looked at my scar. Hated the way they all knew every little fucking thing about me. I really… after living here, after experiencing this wonderful anonymity… I really don't know if I can go back."  
  
"I know. I understand. I honestly wasn't expecting anything else from you," Ron admitted quietly. "I just wanted you to know that… I will be going back. And that there is nothing else in this entire world I want more than for you to come with me. And I would do everything in my power to protect you and keep you happy and keep your life as simple and quiet as possible."  
  
Harry nodded and Ron reached out to hold his hand. Harry looked down at their hands and sighed.  
  
"This is awful," he muttered. "Our only options are not being together or… or me going back to England. I can't ask you to move here, away from your family."  
  
"And I find it horrible to ask you to move back. But it's… like you said, it's our only option. I wish I could stay up here, but I… I just can't. I wish I didn't need other people so much, but I do. I have… my family." Ron shook his head and squeezed Harry's hand tightly. "And I wish you had yours. I wish you had more in England than just me and a community that you hate being a part of."  
  
"You are my family, Ron. You always have been. Your whole… your parents, your siblings, everyone. They are my family. And I wish I could see them again, I really…"  
  
Ron watched Harry's face carefully. "They'd love to see you, too," he said quietly. "They always considered you part of the family. Always."  
  
"I know," Harry said, pulling his hand out of Ron's and running it down his tired face. "That's what's so bloody terrible about the whole thing. They let me in and I – I brought them into the war, I made them go through hell, I, I…"  
  
"Harry," Ron said firmly, moving his chair directly in front of Harry and putting his hands on Harry's thighs. "Don't ever talk like that again. Do you think they regret what they did for you for one second? Do you think they wouldn't have done the same for me or any of my brothers or Ginny? You are family, Harry. We all went through that stuff _together_. It wasn't just you suffering, and it wasn't just them. It was everyone. Everyone, and especially you and especially them. But, yes, together. As a family. Because they loved you and wanted to protect you and help you in any way that they could."  
  
"Christ," Harry muttered, burying his face in his hands. "It still hurts, after all these fucking years," he whispered shakily.  
  
"I know." Ron leaned forward and hugged Harry tightly as he cried. "I know. I know it's hard to… to believe that you were worth it, that it was all worth it. I know it's hard to believe that anyone could ever love you so much as to go through with all of that suffering and come out the other side still loving you and not regretting it. I _know_." He leaned back slightly and kissed Harry on the forehead. "But I also know that you _are_ worth it. The same way I am, no matter how hard I find it to believe that or how hard it is to admit it. You are… _so_ … beautiful. So wonderful. Fuck."  
  
Ron let go of Harry suddenly and stood. "I – I can't, I can't stay… here. With, with this… it's too hard, knowing… knowing that this probably won't work. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."  
  
He ran back through the house and all the way down the street without looking back. He walked briskly back to his hotel, thinking of absolutely nothing the entire way, focused only on walking.  
  
When he finally made it back to his room, Ron slammed the door behind him and collapsed onto the bed. He clutched a pillow tightly as the tears that had been building up behind his eyes all day finally spilled out.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Seventeen: Working out the Plans**  
  
Ron froze when there was a knock on his door. He tossed the pair of jeans he had been holding into his suitcase and straightened up, his heart pounding.  
  
The knocking continued and Ron moved over to the door and put his eye to the peephole. As he had suspected, Harry was standing out in the hall.  
  
Ron opened the door. "How did you get in?" he asked, stepping aside to let Harry into the room.  
  
"I Apparated into the stairwell," Harry explained as Ron shut the door. "You can do magic without a wand, Ron. All wizards can. Children do it all the time. I inflated my aunt, remember? It just takes practise. You have to learn a lot of control and… you know, some skills for how to hone your magic and focus it the way a wand would. But I learned quite quickly. It's not really recommended, obviously. Not everyone can learn to control it that well, and I imagine it could get sort of dangerous, but… there you have it."  
  
Ron blinked and leaned back against the door. "I… oh. Er… that… that was actually a bit anticlimactic."  
  
"I know," Harry said with a small smile. "I just liked watching you squirm." He stepped farther into the room and noticed Ron's half full suitcase. "Um." He turned back toward Ron, panic flickering across his face. "Going somewhere?"  
  
Ron nodded and moved over to his dresser, pulling out more clothes and setting them on the bed to be folded. "Yeah. I… I have to go. If I don't leave now… I'm not sure I ever will. And… I need to. So, I'm going. I waited all last night to see if you would show up, and you didn't. I couldn't wait any more… so I decided to leave."  
  
"Ron," Harry whispered.  
  
Ron closed his eyes at the heartbreak in Harry's quiet voice. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I just… I can't stay. I can't be here anymore. It's too hard. I need – I think we both just need to, to move on. Somehow. To try to move on."  
  
"We didn't see each other for fifteen years and neither of us managed to move on."  
  
Ron threw a shirt into his suitcase. "I don't know what you want me to say, Harry. This is literally killing me, and I need to go home."  
  
Harry stepped forward and put his hands on Ron's chest. He ran his fingers over Ron's thudding heart. "You… you could stay," he said, staring up at Ron. "You could stay for a little while longer. Just a few more days. While… while we work things out."  
  
"Work what out?" Ron asked dully.  
  
"Work out… our plans."  
  
"Our plans," Ron repeated slowly. "Our plans?"  
  
"Our plans." Harry nodded and slid his hands down to Ron's waist. "Please?"  
  
Ron pursed his lips, sensing that if he pushed the issue that Harry might back out of whatever vague plans he had. "A few more days?"  
  
"A few more days," Harry confirmed, leaning closer, his nose resting on the collar of Ron's t-shirt.  
  
Ron tilted his head slightly, trying to ignore the goose pimples that were erupting all over his body from Harry's warm breath on his neck. "I–" He gasped quietly when Harry's tongue darted out to lick his sensitive skin. "Okay," he sighed, wrapping his arms around Harry.  
  
"Okay," Harry repeated before latching his lips onto Ron's neck and sucking roughly.  
  
Ron gulped and dipped his hands under the waist of Harry's jeans. He scraped his fingernails across Harry's round buttocks for a moment, then quickly undid the zipper and pushed Harry's jeans to the floor.  
  
"Moving a bit fast," Harry whispered against Ron's neck, blowing warm air over the wet, red mark he had just left on Ron's pale, freckled skin.  
  
"We've waited too long to take this slow," Ron replied, pulling Harry's shirt off before removing his own as well. He kissed Harry roughly as they worked together to pull off his jeans and both of their pants.  
  
Ron steered them towards his bed and pushed Harry down onto it before following, claiming Harry's body with his own and running his hands over every inch of skin he could reach.  
  
"Fuck, it's even better than I remember," Ron said, leaning back slightly to look down at Harry.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"You are. This is."  
  
Harry laughed and pulled Ron back down for another kiss. "I could kiss you for the rest of my life," he muttered against Ron's lips. "Everything about you – mh!"  
  
"Don't get all girly and sentimental on me," Ron warned, squeezing Harry's cock again. "This sex is going to be manly and filthy."  
  
Harry suppressed a snicker. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes. _Oh_." He squeezed Harry again, and Harry's hips twitched. "Which, er… do you usually… top, or… bottom?"  
  
Harry grinned and kissed Ron briefly, tugging on Ron's lower lip with his teeth as he pulled back. "Usually I'm on top," he said, smiling up at Ron's slightly unfocused eyes. "But I want you to fuck me."  
  
Ron bit back a groan at the thought. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"Brilliant." He sat up next to Harry and looked down at his friend's body. "Oh, fuck, Harry, you're sexy as hell."  
  
Harry laughed openly and sat up, too. "You're ridiculous, did you know that."  
  
"I did, actually." Ron grinned and motioned for Harry to lie back down. He hovered over Harry's body, kissing down the outside of one arm before kissing back up the inside. He mapped out Harry's body with his tongue and lips and fingers, memorizing every mole and scar, every hill and valley, and every spot that made Harry gasp.  
  
"Fuck, Ron," Harry whimpered, reaching down to grab his cock as Ron's tongue traced his ribs.  
  
"No, no," Ron whispered, grabbing Harry's hands and holding them down on the bed. "You have to wait until I'm done."  
  
"When the fuck are you going to be done?"  
  
"Patience, Harry," Ron teased, flicking his tongue over one of Harry's nipples. He moved slowly down Harry's body, sometimes revisiting Harry's nipples or ears and starting his journey downward over again. Harry was writhing on the bed, rubbing his cock on any part of Ron he could reach, desperate for friction. He was swearing heavily, cursing at Ron and begging Ron to go faster, to move farther, to touch his cock.  
  
"Fucking _fuck_ , Ron," Harry whined lowly as Ron's tongue swiped lavishly over his arse. "Oh, fuck, fuck, please, fuck…"  
  
"And you said I had a dirty mouth," Ron teased before dragging his tongue up over Harry's perineum and balls, up the length of his cock. Harry gasped shakily as Ron licked and sucked at the pre-cum glistening on the tip of his aching cock.  
  
"Bloody fucking hell, Ron," Harry practically shouted as Ron kissed leisurely over one of Harry's thighs. "You'd better fucking fuck me right the fuck right now!"  
  
Ron laughed loudly and sat up, finally releasing Harry's hands, which flew into Ron's hair and pulled him down for a bruising kiss.  
  
"Bugger," Ron panted when Harry finally pushed him away. "Hold on." He leapt off the bed and started digging in his suitcase, tossing all of his neatly folded clothes into a heap on the floor. "Aha!" He dashed back to the bed and smothered Harry with a kiss.  
  
"What," Harry mumbled into Ron's mouth, "was that about?"  
  
"Needed a johnny," Ron said before sucking on three of his fingers and gesturing for Harry to turn over.  
  
Harry happily obliged and got onto his hands and knees, grinning down at the mattress. "I wish you would just get it over – ah!" He cried out when Ron shoved two fingers quickly into his arse. "Fu- _uuuck_ , Ron," Harry groaned loudly and dropped down to his elbows as Ron prodded roughly at his prostate. "Fuck, oh, _fu_ …" His voice trailed off and Ron grinned as Harry was reduced to shallow gasps as he continued.  
  
Finally, when he was so hard he thought his brain might melt, Ron pulled his fingers out of Harry's arse.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Harry whimpered as he collapsed onto his stomach. "What the fuck, Ron?"  
  
"What," Ron asked, grinning. "Didn't you like it?"  
  
"I'm about two seconds away from coming," Harry said huskily as he rolled over onto his back. "Are you going to fuck me or not?"  
  
"Yes," Ron practically growled as he ripped open the condom wrapper and sheathed his cock. He pulled Harry's legs up around his waist and held his cock tightly with one hand. "Fuck," he muttered, staring down at Harry's body as he positioned himself at Harry's arse. "Fuck, Harry."  
  
"Do it," Harry moaned, tossing his head back. "Fuck, Ron, come on. Enough."  
  
"Enough," Ron agreed, slipping the head of his cock past the thick ring of muscle. He swallowed dryly as Harry groaned and pushed himself the rest of way inside. "Fuck."  
  
Harry wasted no time and began rocking his hips against Ron, fucking himself on Ron's cock.  
  
"Fuck," Ron repeated, leaning down to kiss Harry, trapping the smaller man beneath him as he built up a quick and steady rhythm with his hips. "Harry," he whispered, moving his lips to Harry's ear. "I love you. Love you – love you," he muttered these words repeatedly as his balls knocked against Harry's arse. He was drowning in lust, and love, and sinful sensation. The words flowing out of his mouth were the only thing keeping him set in reality. "Love you – love you – love you – _fuck, Harry_ ," he groaned as Harry squeezed his muscles harshly around Ron's cock. Ron gasped and tried to regain his pace.  
  
He leaned back slightly and his rhythm faltered again when he saw the dark expression Harry's face.  
  
"Keep going," Harry muttered, wriggling his hips against Ron's.  
  
"Harry–"  
  
"Keep going."  
  
Ron thrust roughly into Harry as he leaned down for a kiss. Harry's lips were hard and forceful against his own, and the kiss was nothing like any other he had shared with Harry so far. He pulled back again, trying to keep up his rhythm.  
  
"All right?" he panted onto Harry's cheek.  
  
"Great," Harry grunted. "Faster."  
  
Ron moaned as Harry reached between their bodies to touch himself. He rocked his hips faster, trying to hold back his impending orgasm.  
  
"Love you, Harry," he whispered against Harry's pink, swollen lips. "You're perfect–"  
  
Harry covered Ron's mouth with his free hand. "Just shut up a fuck me," he said with a slight growl.  
  
Ron sat up and grabbed Harry's hips, slamming himself into Harry's hot, tight arse. Harry continued pulling on his own cock until, just when Ron was losing control, he arched off the bed with a growl and came over his chest. Ron's rhythm broke and slowed down as his body shuddered with pleasure and he came, Harry's clenching muscles ripping the orgasm from his body.  
  
When he came to his senses, Ron pulled out of Harry and sat back on the bed, panting heavily. Harry sat up slightly and ran his hands over his red, sweaty face. Ron pulled off the condom and tossed it into the bin in the bathroom.  
  
"Nice aim," Harry said dully.  
  
"Harry."  
  
"What."  
  
Ron frowned. "Do you… want a tissue or something?" he asked, nodded at the mess on Harry's chest.  
  
"Can I use your shower?" Harry asked, sitting up and flinging his legs over the side of the bed.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Ron asked as Harry walked toward the shower  
  
Harry turned slowly in the doorway of the bathroom and stared at Ron. "You said it was going to be manly and filthy."  
  
Ron blinked. "What?"  
  
"The sex. 'Manly and filthy,' you said."  
  
"Okay," Ron said slowly. "Was it… not filthy enough for you?"  
  
"You were chanting that you love me," Harry said through clenched teeth.  
  
Ron's heart sank. "Sorry," he said, trying to play it off. "Not very filthy, I know."  
  
"It's not bloody manly, either!"  
  
"Harry, come on. Don't be such a pig." Ron set his feet on the floor and sat on the edge of his bed, staring up at Harry. "You're freaking out," he said quietly. "You said you wouldn't, but you are. You're freaking out."  
  
"Of course I'm freaking out!" Harry shouted, causing Ron to jump slightly in surprise. "You don't just bombard someone like that while you're fucking them and expect them not to freak out!"  
  
"Er… why not?"  
  
"It's a bit bloody much!" Harry turned into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.  
  
"Fuck," Ron muttered, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."  
  
He waited for the sound of the shower and then tried the door, but it was locked. He grabbed his wand out from beneath the pile of clothes on the floor and pointed it at the doorknob. He heard the lock click and tossed the wand aside, opening the door quietly.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Fuck off, Ron. I'm in the shower."  
  
"I know. Can I come in?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm coming in," he said, stepping into the steamy bathroom and closing the door behind him.  
  
"Fuck. Off. Ron."  
  
Ron slid open the shower door and stepped inside.  
  
"Harry," he said when Harry ignored him.  
  
"You're only making it worse, Ron," Harry muttered.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ron said sincerely to the back of Harry's head. "I didn't… I didn't mean to upset you. I just got carried away and it just – it just kept coming out. I'm sorry, Harry. Please… please calm down so we can talk about it."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about," Harry said calmly after a moment.  
  
"Are you sure?" Ron asked skeptically.  
  
Harry nodded but still did not turn to face Ron. "I'm sure. I overreacted. You got carried away. It's fine. Just… please let me take a shower."  
  
"Of course." Ron placed a gentle kiss to the back of Harry's neck before leaving the bathroom again.  
  
He dried himself off quickly and redressed himself. As he waited for Harry to get out of the shower, he picked up all of his clothes and put them back in the dresser. He put his suitcase back in the corner. He smoothed out the wrinkled bed sheets. He lay down on the bed and flipped nervously through television channels.  
  
Finally, Ron heard the water shut off, and a few minutes later Harry emerged from the bathroom. Ron turned off the telly, but said nothing as he watched Harry put on all of his clothes again.  
  
"Are you leaving?" Ron asked as Harry buttoned his jeans.  
  
Harry sighed and sat down next to the telly, looking tiredly over at Ron. "I have to get home for dinner. Emily… she's expecting me."  
  
Ron nodded and scooted down to the end of the bed. "Can we get together tomorrow? Work out some of those plans you mentioned?"  
  
Harry smiled slightly. "Of course." He stood and Ron followed him to the door.  
  
"Thanks for coming over," Ron said, running his hand over Harry's damp hair.  
  
"No problem."  
  
Ron kissed Harry gently, then stepped back so he could open the door. "See you tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Eighteen: Emily's News**  
  
_Hermione,  
Don't get too excited, but I think Harry might be coming home with me. He's asked me to stay here a few days longer so that we can work out plans. I don't want to push it, because he's obviously quite sensitive and nervous about the issue, but I'm pretty sure his plans involve moving back to England. So, I will see you soon, hopefully with Harry at my side. I cannot wait to come home.  
Love, Ron_  
  
Ron looked out the window in his hotel room and sighed at the stormy weather. It was raining and he didn't want to go outside, but he needed to send this letter. He really wished he had an owl. What the hell had happened to Pig? Ron hadn't seen the small owl since he'd left mainland Scotland.  
  
With a loud sigh, Ron pushed himself out of the chair and pulled on his jacket. He put the letter in an inside pocket, grabbed his old umbrella, and left.  
  
It was dreary outside and the sky was darker than Ron could remember ever seeing it in this town. He walked quickly to the post office, wishing he had wellies. His shoes and trouser legs were getting soaked.  
  
When he finally reached the post office, he was alarmed to find Emily at the counter again. He really had not wanted to run into her. He stood awkwardly behind her, wondering if there was any chance she wouldn't see him when she turned around.  
  
He had no such luck. She turned away from the counter and was face to face with Ron. He smiled uneasily.  
  
"Ron," she said blankly. "Have you seen Harry?"  
  
"Er, what?" Ron asked, stepping up to the counter. "Just a stamp, thanks," he told the clerk as he pulled out some change.  
  
"Have you seen Harry? He left this morning without saying anything. It's not… not very like him. I don't know where he is. I thought maybe he was with you."  
  
"Er, no. No, I haven't seen him since last night." Ron paid and sent off his letter. "Maybe he's… er, shopping?"  
  
Emily shrugged. "Maybe. Well, I'll see you."  
  
"Yeah, see you," Ron muttered as she left. He waited a minute to be sure she was gone, then stepped back into the rain and walked to his hotel, wondering where Harry could be.  
  
He ate lunch and dinner at the hotel, doing nothing in between his meals except watch television. It was getting late and Ron was getting worried. Harry had said he would come over again, but there was no sign of him anywhere.  
  
At ten o'clock he decided to take a shower before going to bed. He got up and headed towards the bathroom, but then his phone rang. He lunged across his bed at the sound, grabbed the phone, and practically shouted into it.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Mr. Weasley, sir?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"You have a visitor, sir."  
  
"Wonderful," Ron said, relief washing over him. "Great. Yes, thank you. I'll be down in a minute." He hung up and rushed downstairs, wondering why Harry hadn't Apparated again.  
  
When he reached reception, it was Emily, and not Harry, who was sitting across from the front desk. He stopped short and stared at her.  
  
"Emily?"  
  
She looked up and half rose from her chair. "Um, could I… come up for a minute? I need… to talk to you."  
  
Ron really did not want to invite her up to his room, but he did so anyway and led her upstairs in silence. The second he had shut the door to his room behind him, she burst into tears.  
  
"He's not at work," she sobbed.  
  
Ron stood by the door awkwardly, unsure how to react to her hysteria. "Er. What?"  
  
"The pub," she explained, sitting on the edge of his bed and wiping her eyes pointlessly. "He's not there! He's s-s-supposed to work tonight and I w-went to s-see him because I hadn't s-seen him all day!" She sniffed dramatically and Ron went to get her some toilet paper. He handed it to her and sat down on the bed.  
  
"He never came home?" he asked.  
  
She blew her nose loudly. "No. But he's n-not at w-work, either!"  
  
Ron nodded and looked down at the floor, trying not to jump to the worst conclusion. "And there's no… no clues or anything at your house? Any hints as to where he might have gone?"  
  
"No," Emily wailed, covering her face. "Shit," she hiccupped. "I'm sorry to be such a mess."  
  
"It – it's fine," Ron said, placing one of his hands on her back and rubbing it hesitantly. "I – I'm sorry I haven't seen him. I really… don't know where… where he is. I really wish I did."  
  
"Do you think he's in trouble?" she asked desperately, turning to look at him. "Do you think he's hurt or – or kidnapped or – or – or… or, or _dead_?" She sobbed again and covered her mouth with the toilet paper, staring wildly at Ron.  
  
Ron gulped nervously. "Oh. Er. I… I mean, I hope not. I really… I really somehow doubt it. He probably just… just decided to leave." He sighed heavily and removed his hand from her back. "It wouldn't be the first time he's just picked himself up and left without notice or explanation."  
  
"R-really?"  
  
Ron nodded. "That's how he left England in the first place. He got tired of it, so… one day he just disappeared. No trace of him whatsoever."  
  
"How – but, but how did you find him again? Is that why he was so upset when you showed up at our house? Because he'd run away?"  
  
"More or less."  
  
"But how did you find him?" she demanded.  
  
"I – it was – it was just a coincidence. I was here and… and he was here. It just happened." He looked away from her pleading face. "I wish I had better news. I just… I don't know where he is and I haven't the slightest idea how to find him. I'm sorry."  
  
"No. I'm sorry for coming over and bothering you," Emily said, standing up and heading toward the door.  
  
"Emily–" Ron called stupidly after her as she left and slammed the door behind her. "Fuck."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Nineteen: The Return to London**  
  
Ron, desperate to believe that Harry couldn't have possibly pulled the same stunt again, desperate to hope that if he stayed long enough that Harry would come back, resorted to his old ways. He tossed on his invisibility cloak each morning and tramped up and down every street he could find, sometimes looking into windows to see if Harry was hiding in someone else's house. He checked alleyways and back gardens, abandoned buildings and the broch. There was no trace of Harry anywhere, least of all in his own home, which Ron broke into while Emily was at work and inspected as thoroughly as he would a crime scene.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
Three days of searching, of barely sleeping, of exhausting himself with doubt and fear, had left Ron feeling drained and empty.  
  
It was time to go home.  
  
Ron packed quickly and Disapparated from his hotel room. He backtracked the way he had come to the Shetland Islands, popping into Apparition points in Kirkwall, Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Newcastle, Manchester, and finally London.  
  
Half an hour after leaving the Shetland Islands, Ron found himself on the top floor of an unused building that stood directly in between St. Mungo's and the Ministry. He glanced at the sleeping wizard sitting in the corner of the large room, took a deep breath to steady himself, and spun once more.  
  
"RON!"  
  
Ron climbed off Hermione's sofa and set his suitcase down. "You rearranged the furniture," he said as Hermione flung herself onto him.  
  
"Oh, Ron. Oh, Ron. It's so good to see you." She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck.  
  
Ron wrapped his tired arms around her tiny figure and inhaled the wonderfully familiar scent of her hair. "It's good to see you, too," he muttered against her scalp. "Fuck, it's so good to see you."  
  
He glanced up at a noise and saw Neville coming in the front door of the flat. Neville froze with his coat half-off when he saw Ron.  
  
"Blimey," Neville whispered, a smile creeping across his lips. "You're back."  
  
Hermione reluctantly let go of Ron so he could hug Neville.  
  
"Where's Harry?" she asked quietly. "We got your letter…"  
  
"Harry…" Ron sighed and sat down feebly on the sofa, exhausted from so much travel. "Harry's gone again," he muttered. "I… I fucked up and freaked him out and he took off without so much as a backward glance. He just… disappeared. Yet again."  
  
Hermione sat down next to him. "Oh, Ron," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"I stayed there for a few days," Ron whispered. "I stayed and I waited for him to come back. I looked – I looked bloody everywhere for him, but he just… he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere and I couldn't–" He sniffed loudly and tried to fight back the tears that were stinging at his eyes. "I couldn't stay there," he said miserably, his voice cracking. "I couldn't do it anymore. I had – I had to come back. I had to come home."  
  
"Oh, Ron." Hermione wrapped her arms around him again and he leaned into her embrace, crying softly into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry he did it again. To you. It's not fair. It's not right." She held him tightly and soothed the back of his head. "I'm so glad you came home. You belong here."  
  
Ron nodded and pulled back. "Thank you."  
  
She caressed his face gently, wiping off his cheeks. "Would you like something to eat?"  
  
Ron nodded again and watched silently as she moved over to the kitchen and started preparing food.  
  
"Do you think," he asked a few minutes later, getting up from the couch and moving over to the kitchen table. "Would… would you mind if I stay here for a few days? Until I… until I get back on my feet again? I need to go into the Ministry… see about a job… find another flat…"  
  
"Of course you can stay here," Hermione said, setting a sandwich down in front of him. "For as long as you need. We've only got the sofa, but…"  
  
"That's fine, really. Anything you have. I just… I would really like… to be here. With you. For a while."  
  
"Of course," she repeated, reaching out and brushing the hair off his forehead. "Anything you need, Ron."  
  
"What about Neville?" Ron asked, looking around and noticing that her husband was no longer in the room.  
  
"I can't imagine he'd say no."  
  
Ron nodded and picked up his sandwich. "Thanks. For everything."  
  
"Absolutely no problem at all."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Twenty: Neville and Ginny**  
  
Ron woke up the next morning with aches and pains all the way from his neck down to his hips. Hermione's sofa was really quite uncomfortable. He shifted with a groan and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Wincing, he turned his head from side to side, trying to stretch out the angry muscles in his neck.  
  
"Good morning."  
  
Ron turned quickly, grabbed the back of his neck with a slight whimper, and tried to smile at Neville. "Morning," he croaked.  
  
"Sorry about the sofa. We keep saying we need to get a new one. Would you like some breakfast?"  
  
Ron nodded and stood to stretch his limbs and back. Feeling marginally better, he sat at the kitchen table and thanked Neville for the food before digging in.  
  
"Hermione's out for breakfast with Ginny," Neville said quietly. "She didn't want to wake you…"  
  
Ron nodded and stared down at his plate, trying to identify the feeling in his stomach at the thought of finally seeing his family.  
  
"Is – do you think she'll… she'll tell Ginny? About me? That I'm here?"  
  
Neville shrugged. "She might. Before she left, she said she didn't know what she was going to do. They go to breakfast every Sunday. She said she didn't want to cancel for fear of giving something away. So, she just went. I'm not sure… what she's going to say."  
  
Ron nodded again and prodded his eggs with his fork. "I… I'd love to see Gin." He looked up. "Does she still live near the Ministry in that tiny flat?"  
  
"No, she moved in with Robert last month."  
  
"Right. Robert. He – he's… nice, right?"  
  
Neville smiled kindly. "Of course. He treats her wonderfully. She's very happy."  
  
Ron put his fork down with a sigh. "I wish…. I wish I knew him better. I wish I'd been here to – to see these… all these things that have happened."  
  
Neville picked up his plate and slid the rest of his sausages onto Ron's plate. "You're here now," he said firmly. "You're here now and you have plenty of time to get to know him. They're getting married. You've got all the time in the world."  
  
Ron smiled gratefully at Neville before picking up his fork again. He ate the rest of his breakfast in silence as Neville read the _Daily Prophet_ and drank coffee. They cleaned the dishes together, standing over the sink and scrubbing with soap and water, favouring the chance to work with their hands and talk over the ease and speed of magic.  
  
"Oh!" Neville nearly dropped a plate. "I forgot to tell you! Pig's at the Burrow."  
  
Ron rubbed his cheek on his shoulder, trying to scratch an itch. "What?" he asked blankly.  
  
"Pig. Your owl? He's at the Burrow. We didn't know where you were and… well, he's not very good at finding things long distance. Especially since he's…"  
  
"Old as balls?" Ron suggested, setting the frying pan on the drying rack and rinsing the soap off his hands.  
  
"Yes," Neville laughed. "Old as balls. Anyway, I meant to tell you last night. He's been staying at the Burrow lately."  
  
Ron nodded and dried his hands on his jeans. "Good," he said vaguely. "Good."  
  
Neville turned off the water and looked at his watch. "It's nearly noon. She should be back by now."  
  
Ron shrugged. "Maybe they're…" He trailed off as the door to the flat opened and Ginny bolted through it, running straight at him. She flung herself onto him so hard that he stumbled backward and bumped into the kitchen counter.  
  
Any thoughts of fear or nervousness at seeing his family again drained from Ron's body as he clung tightly to his younger sister. Her tiny frame, her wild hair, her fierce grip all comforted and thrilled him. This was why he had finally come home for good.  
  
"Hermione says you're staying?" Ginny asked, her voice muffled against Ron's chest.  
  
"Yes," Ron said, pushing her away slightly. He smiled down at her. "I'm staying. When's the wedding? Merlin, Ginny. You've grown up."  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and stepped out of his grip. "Don't be such a sap. I'm 32. How much can a person grow up between 30 and 32?"  
  
Ron beamed and embraced her again, too happy at seeing her to fall back into playful bickering so soon. "I've missed you," he muttered.  
  
"I've missed you, too," Ginny said, stepping back again. "We all have."  
  
Ron glanced up at Hermione, who was grinning at him. "We have," she confirmed.  
  
Ron looked back down at his sister. "Do you want to come home with me?"  
  
"To the Burrow?"  
  
"To the Burrow."  
  
"Yes." Ginny laughed. "I want to see the look on Mum's face when you show up."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Twenty-One: The Burrow**  
  
Ron and Ginny Apparated just outside their parents' property. They walked slowly toward the house, nervous excitement coursing through Ron's body.  
  
"Do you think they'll be home?" Ron asked, mostly just for the sake of saying something to distract himself.  
  
"Where else would they be?"  
  
Ron shrugged and quickened his step, shortly breaking into a run. Ginny ran behind him, laughing. She sped up, overtook him, and slammed into the back of the Burrow before he had even reached the back garden.  
  
"Beat you!" she shouted, panting slightly.  
  
Ron slowed down and approached the house at a jog.  
  
"Aren't you going to knock?" Ginny asked when Ron reached the Burrow and did nothing but stare at it.  
  
"I – yeah…" Ron lifted his hand and knocked uncertainly on the door.  
  
"Who's that?" Mrs. Weasley's voice came from inside.  
  
"It's me, Mum," Ginny answered, clapping her hand over Ron's mouth.  
  
"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley called back, making her way toward the door. "What a wonderf–" She opened the door and gaped up at Ron as though she were looking at a ghost. " _Ron_?" she choked out, in disbelief.  
  
Ron nodded, staring down at his mother and taking in every wonderful, familiar detail of her ruffled hair and dirty robe. "Hi, Mum," he breathed, falling into her open arms.  
  
"Oh, goodness," she muttered, still in shock. "Oh, goodness grac – how long have – how are – what are you – ARTHUR!"  
  
Ron laughed and pulled back. He motioned for Mrs. Weasley and Ginny to go inside the house and followed them, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Yes, dear?" Mr. Weasley's voice came from somewhere upstairs.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Ginny shouted, waving her hand to silence the other two.  
  
"Ginny?" Mr. Weasley shouted. They could hear his footsteps on the stairs.  
  
Ron looked back at his mother, who was still staring at him as though he might disappear at any moment.  
  
"Did we–" Mr. Weasley came into the kitchen and stopped dead when he caught sight of Ron. "Ron," he said dumbly. "G-Ginny. And Ron. You're home?"  
  
Ron nodded and moved over to hug his father. "I'm home. I'm staying, too," he added, looking back over his shoulder at his mother. As he pulled out of his father's hug, he was surprised to see the sad expression on her face. "Mum?"  
  
"But where's Harry?" she asked quietly. "Hermione said… said you'd found him. And – and convinced him to come back. If you're staying…"  
  
Ron looked down at the floor. "No, it's… it's just me, Mum. Harry… well, I don't know where he is. He… he was thinking about coming back, I think. But…"  
  
Mrs. Weasley hugged her youngest son again. "I'm sorry, dear," she whispered soothingly. "Sometimes people just…"  
  
"You don't have to make excuses for him," Ron said firmly, pulling back. "Let's just – let's not think about him, okay? Can we just…" He took a deep breath and looked helplessly around the kitchen for what he wanted to say. "Can't we just…"  
  
"Celebrate the fact that you're home," Ginny supplied. "Yes, of course. I'll go get George," she said as she headed for the fireplace in the living room.  
  
"Make sure Lee comes," Mrs. Weasley shouted after her.  
  
"Lee?" Ron asked, turning his head sharply to look at his mother.  
  
Mrs. Weasley's face went slightly pink. "Yes. They're… er… ah…"  
  
"Together," Mr. Weasley finished. "For a while, I think. They've only just told us recently, though."  
  
Ron's mouth dropped open. "George and Lee?"  
  
"Yes, well." Mrs. Weasley smiled nervously. "We did have six sons. One of you was bound to be…" She blushed magnificently and turned away quickly. "I'll make us some lunch."  
  
Ron looked at his father, who was laughing silently. He nodded towards the living room and Ron followed him out of the kitchen. They sat on an old sofa that faced the fireplace.  
  
"George and Lee?" Ron asked again.  
  
Mr. Weasley frowned. "Is that… you're not…"  
  
"No, no," Ron said quickly. "It's fine. I mean, I just – _I_ used to… I mean, er…" He trailed off awkwardly, looking back at the kitchen. "I just didn't know George… er."  
  
"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, sounding amused. "It was a bit surprising."  
  
"Surprising, yeah," Ron muttered, looking down at his feet.  
  
"How've you been? Mr. Weasley asked gently. "You were in Scotland?"  
  
Ron nodded and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "Yeah. I've been… I've been… fine, I guess. I'm tired and… and I just want to start living again. I want everything to go back to normal. I want to stop…. stop looking for him, stop thinking about him, stop caring about him. I just want to stop. I want to live my own life."  
  
"Ron," Mr. Weasley began, but was cut off by Ginny's sudden appearance in the fireplace.  
  
She stepped out, followed by George and then Lee. Ron stood and hugged George tightly.  
  
"Don't ever fucking leave again," George muttered, squeezing Ron so roughly that Ron thought he was in danger of being crushed.  
  
"I won't. I'm sorry," Ron whispered.  
  
George pushed Ron away roughly. "Welcome home," he said, grinning.  
  
Ron glanced over George's shoulder at Lee, who smiled uneasily. "Would you excuse us for a moment," Ron asked, turning to Ginny and Mr. Weasley.  
  
Mr. Weasley dragged a protesting Ginny into the kitchen. Ron watched them leave, then faced Lee again.  
  
"You're shagging my brother."  
  
"Er… y-yeah," Lee admitted.  
  
"You're in a relationship."  
  
"Ron–" George tried, but Ron held up his hand for silence.  
  
"How the bloody fuck did that ever happen?"  
  
Lee shifted. "It just… it just did, okay? You're not honestly upset, are you? I thought, I mean – it was just casual between us… right?"  
  
Ron grinned, his self-control faltering. "Absolutely. I'm just kidding. I'm happy for you, really. Shocked out of my arse, yes, but happy." He stepped forward to hug Lee. "It's good to see you again."  
  
"You, too." Lee kissed Ron briefly on the cheek. "I'm glad you're home."  
  
"Me, too."  
  
"Oi! Break it up!" George shouted.  
  
Ron laughed, pulled away from Lee, and led the way into the kitchen.  
  
  
  
**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Confession**  
  
When Ron returned to their flat that night, Neville and Hermione were sitting on the sofa, reading. Hermione looked up at the noise from his Apparition.  
  
"How was it?" she asked, grinning.  
  
"Fantastic," Ron replied, sitting himself between them. "Did you know that George and Lee are dating?"  
  
"I did," Hermione admitted. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you or not…"  
  
"Did you think I would be jealous or something?" Ron asked, pretending to be offended.  
  
"I wasn't sure," Hermione repeated, apologetically.  
  
Ron shrugged it off. "Lee and I were never serious. Lee was never serious with anyone. Until now, I guess."  
  
"I think he was always serious about George," Hermione said quietly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Exactly that. I think Lee was in love with George for a very long time. Only, he didn't want to admit it because George was… well, straight, first of all. And, second of all… he was… well, not always in a… fit state for a relationship."  
  
Ron conceded this point with a nod. "So," he asked slowly, "Lee's been… in love with George? All this time?"  
  
"I think so, yes."  
  
Ron stared at the floor, lost in his thoughts, and barely noticed when Neville got up and left the room.  
  
"Ron," Hermione said quietly. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I slept with Harry," he admitted miserably.  
  
Hermione gasped quietly. "You – you _slept_ with – with _Harry_?"  
  
Ron nodded and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "I slept with Harry," he repeated. "He was – fuck. He said he'd been in love with me since the war. And I've… I've been in love with him since the war, too." He ignored Hermione's shocked silence and continued. "I love him," he muttered. "And he said he loved me. And then he just left. Again. Like nothing had happened."  
  
"Ron," Hermione whispered. "I had no idea. I… I'm so sorry."  
  
Ron leaned forward again and covered his face with his hands. "I want it to stop," he said, his voice muffled. "I want the – the fucking aching in my chest to just go the fuck away. I'm done dealing with it. It's over and I want to move on and I'm bloody sick of the fucking hole in my heart and I just…" He took a deep breath and lowered his hands. "I just want it to stop. I'm done with him. I can't look for him anymore. It hurts too much."  
  
Hermione hugged Ron tightly, closing her eyes and burying her face in his hair. "Oh, Ron," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you're so hurt. I'm sorry he did this to you. Again. I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I can't help."  
  
Ron smiled slightly at her rambling. He pulled back. "It's okay. I mean, no. It's not okay. It's bloody awful, but there's nothing we can do about it now. It's over and… and that's the end of it. It's time to just… move on. I want to move on. I want to start over."  
  
Hermione nodded and grabbed Ron's face with both of her hands. She kissed his forehead tenderly. "I love you, Ron," she whispered. "You're my best friend and I hate to see you so upset. But," she sighed heavily, "you're right. It's time to move on. No use dwelling on the past." She let go of his face. "You're bigger than this, Ron. You'll be fine."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Absolutely." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to go out for a drink?"  
  
"Yes," Ron said firmly, standing up. "A drink would be perfect."  
  
  
  
**Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Years Later**  
  
"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Hermione asked as she and Ron stepped out of the lifts and into the Atrium at the Ministry.  
  
"Not really. Thought I might catch a Muggle movie or something."  
  
"Sounds fun." She led the way to the fireplaces. "Do you want to do breakfast on Sunday with me and Gin?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," Ron agreed, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a bowl on the mantle. "The usual spot?"  
  
"Of course." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Have a good weekend."  
  
"Thanks, you too." Ron tossed the powder into the fireplace and stepped into it.  
  
A few moments later, he was spinning in his own fireplace. He looked out into his living room, forgot to brace himself, and fell forward onto his face.  
  
"Fuck!" He scrambled to his feet and stared at his sofa. "Harry?"  
  
Harry stood up and took a small step toward Ron. "Hi," he said in a small, uncertain voice.  
  
"What are you – how – where – what – _Harry_." Ron stumbled stupidly over his words, staring at his friend, not entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating.  
  
"Um." Harry smiled slightly. "Hi."  
  
"What are you doing here?" Ron asked, his voice a bit sharper than he would have expected.  
  
"I – I came… I came back. Here. To – to see you."  
  
"Came back," Ron repeated. "Came back to England?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Came back to London?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"To see me?"  
  
"Yes, Ron, to all of the above."  
  
Ron swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "You're… you're staying?" he asked quietly.  
  
Harry nodded. "I am. I'm staying. No more leaving. I – I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I left like that. Um, twice. I just… I'm not… I'm not good with things like this, as you well know. And I – I thought about it too much and I got too scared and I just… I panicked. A lot. And I'm sorry."  
  
Ron stared at him, unsure what to say or do. "You… where did you go?"  
  
"I went back to Norway. For a bit. About a month. I thought… I thought maybe you or Emily would think to look there, but…"  
  
"I stopped looking," Ron said shortly.  
  
"Yeah, I – I… I know. And I know you have no reason to trust me anymore. And I hate myself for that, for hurting you so many times. But, I'm going to make it up to you."  
  
"How?" Ron demanded.  
  
"Well, I… I thought we could start with… some manly, filthy sex," Harry suggested, smiling uneasily.  
  
"Sex," Ron repeated disbelievingly.  
  
"Yes. Sex. And you can – you can tell me that you – you love me. All you want. I won't leave. I promise." When Ron said nothing, Harry continued. "I mean, that is, if you still do – I, I mean, I'm not trying to assume anything, I just meant–"  
  
"I know what you meant," Ron said quietly. He looked helplessly around the room, searching for an outlet for the emotions bubbling up inside of him. "You just – you expect me… you expect me to just – just take you back? To pretend that nothing happened, that everything is fine, that you didn't shit on my heart and then force feed it to me?"  
  
Harry's mouth dropped open slightly at this unpleasant image. "I…"  
  
"That's shit, Harry." Ron huffed angrily and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You can't keep doing to this to me," he said pathetically.  
  
"I know," Harry said quickly. "I know. I can't even begin to tell you how much I regret… how much I regret hurting you."  
  
Ron took a few jerky steps toward Harry, who reached out to touch Ron's hair, a pained expression his face.  
  
"I'm so bloody sorry," he whispered.  
  
Ron closed his eyes and tried to fight the urge to kiss Harry. He didn't want to kiss Harry, he wanted to punch Harry in the face. His brain was screaming out for him not to be stupid, not to go back to Harry again, not to make himself so vulnerable to someone who had hurt him in the past. His heart, on the other hand, was beating excitedly in his chest, aching to be closer to Harry again, to be back in those wonderfully strong arms, to kiss those perfect lips.  
  
"You can yell some more, if you'd like," Harry offered quietly.  
  
Ron opened his eyes and stared into Harry's. "You took out your eyebrow thing," he said slowly, his hand moving to Harry's forehead. "And you grew your hair back out." He ran his fingers through the messy mop of black hair, then brushed the fringe off the lightening scar.  
  
"I did," Harry whispered, putting his other hand on Ron's hip.  
  
"I want to yell at you," Ron admitted, tracing the scar with his fingertip. "I want to kick you in the balls and refuse to take you back."  
  
"You can. You can do that. I mean, I'd prefer it if you didn't kick me in the balls, but the rest of it…" Harry smiled uncertainly up at Ron.  
  
"I'm sick of wasting time," Ron said softly, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "I'm an idiot for doing this. I spent so long trying to forget about you." He shook his head and bit his lower lip roughly, trying to convince himself that Harry wasn't worth the effort or pain. "Are you sure you're staying?" he found himself asking.  
  
"Yes," Harry breathed.  
  
"Forever?"  
  
Harry held Ron's face in both of his hands and stared into Ron's bright blue eyes. "Yes. Forever. I love you, Ron. And however much that scares me, being without you scares me even more. The past two years have been the absolute worst of my life. I can't stay away any longer. I need you. I love you."  
  
"Fuck." Ron wrapped his arms around Harry's middle. "I love you, too."  
  
"Good," Harry whispered, leaning closer.  
  
He pressed his lips to Ron's, and Ron, overwhelmed, dropped to his knees, pulling Harry down with him. Ron's hands moved frantically over Harry's body, touching every bit to make sure he was really there, that he wasn't a dream.  
  
"God, I've missed you," Harry whimpered slightly as Ron kissed his neck.  
  
"Me – too," Ron muttered between kisses. "Missed you – need you – you're here."  
  
"I'm here," Harry assured him, running his hands through Ron's shaggy hair.  
  
Ron pulled back suddenly. "Hermione is going to wet herself when she finds out."  
  
Harry grinned widely. "That I'm back?"  
  
"That you're back. That I didn't hex your balls off for being such a bastard."  
  
Harry bit his lower lip. "Do you think… do you think she'll be angry with me?  
  
"Probably," Ron said. "At least for a bit. You were quite horrible to me."  
  
Harry frowned. "You're… amazing. For taking me back. For forgiving me."  
  
"Who says I've forgiven you?" Ron asked sternly. "Do you have any idea how pissed off I am? You're going to be punished. You deserve a spanking."  
  
Harry bit back a grin. "I do, don't I?"  
  
"Yes." Ron pushed Harry down until he was lying on the floor, then crawled on top of him. "I'm – I'm glad you're home," he whispered, his lips ghosting across Harry's jaw as his hands worked to remove Harry's trousers. "I'm so bloody… glad."  
  
Harry grabbed Ron's head and pulled it up for a long, meaningful kiss. "I'm glad I'm home, too."


End file.
